


Phoenix Embers

by dcepticonn



Category: Transformers - Occulus Occult, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Other, Transformer Sparklings, oops lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcepticonn/pseuds/dcepticonn
Summary: Blitzwing has spent the last sixteen years convinced his daughter was dead. Sixteen long years warring with his thoughts and emotions about losing her. Necrostar, for the last few years, have been observing a twisted project known as Operation Typhon - and if Blitzwing's suspicions are true, his daughter may be closer than he thinks as he fights for his life against an enemy who calls herself Phoenix.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Preface

_Please enjoy - and remember, **do not read something you don't think you can handle!  
If there's a blacklist item that should be added or was perhaps missed, let me know in the comments  
or privately through my [Tumblr](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/)!  
Keep in mind that I WILL NOT be blacklisting triggers specific to one individual (I.E Names),  
as this is a public work. If something specific to you in this fic triggers you, simply do not read it.  
Please cultivate your own experiences within the Occulus Occult community,  
The Transformers community and by extension the whole Internet.**_

* * *

Blacklist

Note that I do not know how many chapters there's gonna be so far, this is a rough outline and there may be more in between.

**_I: The Cliff at The Edge of The World_ **

Gore  
Kidnapping  
Animal death

**_II: Epitaph_ **

There are no entries.

**_III: When Doves Cry_ **

There are no entries.

**_IV: Californication_ **

There are no entries.

_**V: Black Hole Sun** _

There are no entries.

**_VI: Na Na Na_ **

Graphic description of bones breaking

_**VII: Spellbound** _

There are no entries.

**_VIII: Purple Rain_**

Mentioned child abuse

**_IX: The End of Love_ **

_**X: In The Splendour of The Moon** _

**_XI: The Skofnung Sword_ **

**_XII: Metallica & The Fate of Dire Straits_ **

**_XIII: Vigahugr_**

**_XIV: Enter Sandman_ **

**_XV: Master of Puppets_ **

**_XVI: For Whom The Bell Tolls, Part I_ **

**_XVII: For Whom The Bell Tolls, Part II_ **

**_XVIII: It Tolls For Thee - TRUE ENDING VERSION_ **

**_XIX: It Tolls For Thee - GOOD ENDING VERSION_ **

**_XX: It Tolls For Thee - BAD ENDING VERSION_ **


	2. The Cliff at The Edge of The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blitzwing is on his own, now, away from the Nemesis with a newborn daughter. He was sent to scout a Necrostar signal, but ends up with more than he bargains for...

_"confusion will be my epitaph,_  
_as i crawl a cracked and broken path"_  
_~ king crimson, 'epitaph' ~_

The forest below him sped along like a wavering sea of green, every so often broken by rivers or deep fractures in the earth that spiralled dizzyingly below him.   
The wind screamed around his snout as he spiralled through the air with all the grace of an eagle soaring through the clouds. He was still sore, but that was expected.   
He needed to stretch his wings. Well, at least get himself in the air to circle once or twice around the canyon. It was a huge rift hidden among mountains that humans had deemed too treacherous to travel to, with a rushing blue river running along its base, sparkling like an azure ribbon against the ocean of green and gray. The mountains either side were capped in fresh white snow, their peaks impaling clouds as they clawed desperately to the blue sky above with a sun dipping its head behind the peak of the Western mountain.    
Clouds like a veil of mist filled the canyon, as if the cliff’s twin edges were overlooking the edge of the world.    
It was beautiful. He never wanted to leave.   
He had been in his little paradise for the last several weeks, originally there to scout for a supposed Necrostar signal that was detected in the woods to the East. But there was nothing. Either they were becoming more cunning, or it was a device that had fallen off of a passing plane or helicopter. Still, it didn’t make him feel exactly at ease, and communications were down because of the remoteness of the site.   


He rolled, a classic barrel-roll, as he turned his snout in the direction of the Western canyon’s face - the wind resisted against him and it chilled him to the bones - but it was fresh, natural and satisfying even though it made the scars that laced over his body sting. Some were from accidents, some were from being a complete dolt, some were from battles over his years and others he would rather not talk about.  
The slate gray cliff raced forward to meet him - and he slowed, changing form.  
With the grinding and clicking of metal and the hiss of exhaust, he perched himself on the ledge before him - large enough to easily fit a few dozen humans, but hardly big enough to hold the titan.  
He heaved himself onto the ledge with all the caution and care of a surgeon operating on a patient, dragging himself forward to sit on the ledge carefully. His wings rattled as the wind toyed with them, the sunlight sparkling against rich violet that contrasted beige-gray. The guns on his back tingled as cold wind assaulted them, making his metal grow numb and cold to the touch.  
The chill spread down his back, and he curled in on himself.  


Optics as red as cherries peered down slim features on a face of pale icy blue, the vents on his cheeks rattling softly and condensation clouding around his face before dissipating into the wind. The caterpillar treads that wrapped around his feet rattled as a particularly strong gust toyed with them, making the large mech lean forward against the ledge, throwing his arms forward and shifting further onto the ledge - as far as he could go, as he was pressed now against the wall.  
His body was now shielding a small divot in the wall, that he had stuffed haphazardly with oak-leaves and a parachute he found in his chest-cavity’s storage compartment.  
It was a perch he had called his home for the past while. Especially considering what happened in his absence - he would much rather wait for Megatron and the Nemesis to come by and find him than to try and journey on his own, especially when she was still so fragile.  
She was frail as is - small, and taking all the time she needed to realise she was actually out into the world now.  
He turned his optics to the parachute - which was wrapped inside of the divot, but also covering it, and raised a tender hand to the parachute and pulled it back slowly as to not scare what lay within.  


She was small - her optics stuck mostly shut still, curled in a small ball with dense energon still clinging to her sharp edges. Her bright red metal were as red as his optics, and her face was soft and serene as she slept.   
She was born a few days after he arrived to the canyon site, and was the sole reason he wasn’t home at the Nemesis. Why he insisted on taking the task, he had no idea. Only regrets now.   
She was called Firebird, and he was called Blitzwing.   
He was always so anxious about the little one. He was so large, and she was so small and fragile and he was big, so big compared to her.    
Blitzwing shifted to rest on his side, tilting his head over his shoulders so that the sky was in sight - now a blazing orange, the sun gone behind the mountains, the peak casting long shadows along the valley.   
He turned his optics to Firebird once more, rolling onto his stomach and resting his chin on the cold hard stone in front of her. “We will get you home,” He whispered softly, his voice hardly above a breath.   
He moved to carefully scoop Firebird into his arms, pulling her close to his side, the little one sinking into his warmth. Blitzwing sighed, slowly closing his optics - drawing in a long breath, exhaling slowly, and slowly dozing off to the sound of distant wind and the river below.

“Sir,” Began the man to his left - stalking low to the dense brush, his face obscured by a dense black mask. The jet had flown low over them only a few minutes prior - it was only a matter of time before it decided walking on foot was a good idea. “Our trackers are detecting another signal on that ledge the jet keeps returning to,” the soldier continued.  
“And?” He growled - he was far older, with silver graying hair and terrible scars marring his neck and body. It was said that he had killed several fully-grown Cybertronians single-handedly, and each and every scar was a mark left by his victims. Nobody knew who he was - just that he was known only as The Pommel. Most of his face was always obscured by a mask he wore, which resembled a snarling wolf, and hid most of his face. “Is that supposed to be important?”  
“The signal didn’t appear until a few days ago,” the soldier began. “We believe it has something to do with the jet. And something that I think the higher-up would like to see for his new project”.  
“Operation Typhon?”  


“Yes, sir”.   
“Now how do you think that we are going to access that ledge and move the payload?”   
“We have access to tools-”   
“That’ll get us caught. Do you want to try tearing that thing out of the sky or die trying? No? I didn’t think so”.   
“Sir-”   
“I will not be argued with, soldier!” He snapped.   
“But we can- we can move to the cliff above, and climb down”.   
Silence. The Pommel heaved a groan. “Fine, we’ll try it. I’d better get paid good for this. Rally the troops, we move at dawn”.

Blitzwing woke that morning to Firebird leaning against his neck, her head buried against his chin. With a great huff-purr, he blinked the last few licks of sleep from his optics. He chuckled at the little one that had moved to lean against his neck, and carefully lift his head and set his hand against her back so she would lean against his hand rather than flop onto the stone.   
She squeaked at him, and opened her optics just the slightest - they sparkled like twin gold coins as she stared up at Blitzwing, who chuckled and nuzzled the little one gently. “Good morning,” he whispered softly, leaving a kiss on her head.   
She squeaked, and rolled onto her side against her father’s arm. He sighed and relocated the small one to her cubby, who quite adorably curled up in her little spot and closed her optics once more.   
Blitzwing sighed, covering the cubby with the parachute again before turning his back on the little one, and rolling off his ledge.   
He fell, the wind screaming around him, and seconds before colliding with the cool river rushing in the belly of the canyon he transformed, kicking his engines on with a bang and shooting skyward.   


He righted himself right above the treetops, so low in fact he feared his belly would strike the trees and he would go spiralling into the nature below. He was looking for something - something to eat. Deer, probably, considering how they lived in abundance near his ledge.    
He changed form again, vanishing into the trees with a bang. Any day now, Megatron should be looking for him, any day now he would be safe and home and Lugnut can tease him about Firebird.   
He sighed, and with a whirl, spun his head around.   
Jack-O’-Lantern always had something to say when Blitzwing’s thoughts were crowded. It sighed, optics carefully scanning the trees spread out before it. Something moved - something large, with massive antlers that swung back and forth among the trees. A moose.   
Jack stood perfectly still, slowing its breathing. The creature hadn’t noticed it - instead only making its way towards it. And that is when it would move, striking quickly and suddenly.   
The moose got closer - closer still, until it stood only a few yards in front of Jack - grazing on scraps of plants on the forest floor. Carefully, Jack moved as to not startle the creature…   
Suddenly, with all the swiftness and suddenness of a cobra striking out it moved, gripping the beast in one hand and snapping its neck between its fingers as it struggled.   
In the distance, a shattering bang that reverberated around the canyon. Jack’s face whirled around again, stopping on Blitzwing’s face. He cocked his head upwards before sighing.    
He should investigate that. He leapt skyward, transformed, and with a bang shot off into the sky, whirled around over the treetops, and circled once over the patch of forest before making his way back to his ledge.

The sun had long since climbed high into the sky, and he was starving and cold. Anything to retreat back to the Nemesis.   
A cloud of smoke was rising from the canyon - his spark sank into his tanks. The dense black cloud was rising from the direction his ledge was.    
Energon rumbled in his audials as he shot towards the ledge, panic mounting. Firebird.   
Was she okay? Was she safe?    
What if she wasn’t? What if she was…   
_ Shit _ , he thought as he neared the ledge he had called his home. The source of the smoke was indeed the ledge, and it smelled strongly of…   
Energon.    
“No, no, no, no,” he panicked under his breath as he neared the ledge, black smoke clouding his vision and clogging his vents as he approached the ledge, almost colliding with it.   
Something sticky and hot seeped into his silicone-padded palms, glowing bright blue through the haze. He sighed as the wind picked up, gale after gale blowing away the smoke and revealing to him what he had stumbled into.   


Something he wish he never saw.    
The parachute that concealed Firebird from the outside world was torn to tatters, stained in bright sky-blue energon that was also splattered along the walls and the ledge. And Firebird was nowhere to be seen.    
He didn’t know what he was feeling. Was it shock? Was it confusion? Terror?   
Realisation.   
The Necrostar signal wasn’t a farce, or a missing piece of technology. They were there, and they had been watching him. They knew about Firebird. They knew about him.   
Realisation gave way to rage, gave way to grief - and now, rage. Something within him snapped.   
Tears raced down his face - his only daughter, dead and gone like this. He said nothing, only cried silently - biting into his lip so that the metal warped and broke under his teeth. What he felt deep within his spark was a pain that he could not put into words. He opened his chest, threw from it the moose carcass, and leapt off of his ledge.    
He transformed, and shot skyward. He was going to find the Nemesis.   
His energon thrummed in his ears, his spark burning in his chest like it was going to explode. He wasn’t going to wait for the Nemesis to find him. He was going to find the Nemesis, make his report, and plot his revenge.  
With a crackling bang that made the clouds around him dissipate, he shot off into the horizon. 


	3. Epitaph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixteen long years have passed since Blitzwing lost Firebird. Sixteen long years since her murderers got away with it, as there were no leads on the perpetrators since that fateful afternoon. Sixteen long years, and he holds onto hope that even his best friend told him was futile. He gets some drinks with a friend suffering from a similar tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i know i gave this chapter a real summary but the REAL summary is are you really friends if you dont go to your friend's house and cry at 3am then sleep. also as a plural person i love writing a plural character,,
> 
> also the comments are now set to only registered users can comment because someone decided to put their disgusting r*pefic in my comments.

_"call her moonchild,_   
_dancing in the shallows of a river._   
_lovely moonchild,_   
_dreaming in the shadows of a willow"_   
_~ king crimson, 'moonchild' ~_

The halls of the Nemesis were vaulted high above their heads, the ceiling lined in soft violet lights that made the shadowy halls glow with a tint of purple. Lights-out past eleven, as per usual.  
He couldn’t sleep. He hasn’t gotten good sleep in just over a decade, almost twenty years.   
Lugnut always told him that he should’ve moved on by now. Blitzwing thought that he simply didn’t understand.   
But something in those five optics told him otherwise.   
It was best not to say anything, he concluded. It wasn’t his place to pry into his closest friend’s thoughts and histories. If he wanted to speak on matters, he would.   
He was afraid of telling Lugnut, or anyone for that matter, about how that afternoon aches like a wound that has long since become infected and festered. He was afraid that he would be laughed at, or jeered at, even though he knew it was as likely as, ah, what did the humans say? Finding a needle in a haystack.   
He could trust Lugnut. He found appreciation and a sense of kinship in the big brute.   
He was just ashamed, he assumed, that he didn’t do anything more. Regretful that he probably shouldn’t have left Firebird alone. Every time he closed his optics at night to sleep, he found that rather than staring at the backs of his eyelids, he was treated to visions of that cliff, splattered in gore, and his metaphorical heart would metaphorically break again. 

This was another one of those nights, stumbling tiredly to Lugnut’s chambers ripe at three in the morning, Earth time.  
He stopped before the door - its keypad was dark, but as Blitzwing raised his hand to it, the keypad illuminated, and on the screen it displayed in bright, blinding violet against darker wine-reddish;

Blitzwing sighed, raising a digit to the keypad, but he stopped. The family of three that lived in the apartment trusted Blitzwing with the code to their home, even going as far as saying that they were willing to offer him a space in their apartment - a space in their family. Especially after what happened sixteen years ago.  
But would it be rude to walk into their home when they were most likely sleeping? It didn’t feel right.  
And it never felt right, even the previous few dozen times he did this.  
And he would have the same internal war every single time with the same concluding question. Does he go home and cry until the pain becomes unbearable and he resorts to his old unhealthy habits, or does he walk in and take over the sofa in the living room and hope that someone wakes up and sees him before the pain takes over and oncemore he resorts to old unhealthy habits?  
It was always the second option with him. His finger pressed into the first digit - 0.

The door with a soft hiss slid open. “Blitzwing,” Grumbled a low and gruff voice, still shrugging off the last licks of sleep.  
Blitzwing’s head popped up, red optics meeting the optics of the other - a singular red optic on an almost-rectangular head, with four more optics either side of his head. His hull was dark, rich royal purple, while his head and arms were a rich camo green. He cocked his head and sighed.  
“Every night,” Lugnut whispered, “You come here. For the past sixteen years, without fail, you show. At this point I’ve come to expect you. But why? Why haven’t you moved on?”  
“You know what I say every time to that, Luggs”.  
“You come to me every night like a cub who had a nightmare,” the larger bot began, the massive wings on his back twitching slightly, folded down his back like the elytra of a beetle. “I know it’s hard. I understand it more than you think I do,” he continued. “But you need to start learning how to move on. There’s nothing you could’ve done. Necrostar - they take and they take and they take. But there’s nothing we can do to replace what they’ve taken but try to build something new”.

Blitzwing sighed. He knew his friend was right. He knew it deep in his spark - but part of him still clawed for the hope that Firebird was alive somewhere.  
“But what about fighting back,” Blitzwing muttered, “Then maybe they’d hurt less people”.  
Lugnut sighed. “People are scared, Blitz. Their children are being taken. They’re going missing. Winding up dead. Eerily similar to what happened to Firebird. They don’t want it to happen to them, either”.  
The larger mech rest a claw on Blitzwing’s shoulder. Blitzwing turned his optics to the floor as if it was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the universe. He blinked his optics shut and heaved a shaking sigh. “I know, I just… Megs still has no idea what happened, who’s responsible, just that we only know one organisation of humans ballsy enough to go after bots like us. Necrostar. That’s our only lead”.  
“And it’s obvious it was them from the getgo. What we don’t know is who hides behind the mask. You-- you should come inside,” Lugnut sighed, stepping out of the door to bring his arm over Blitzwing’s shoulders. “We can talk in there”.  
“I...I want to find who did this to me. Who’s doing this to innocents. And I will make them pay with blood”.

“Blitzwing, we don’t even know where to start,” Lugnut began, “Trust me. I want vengeance for everyone too. I want it more than anyone else. But we can’t just go in guns blazing. We can’t do nothing, but we have no idea what to do. You know this and you’ve known this for the past sixteen years”.  
Blitzwing sighed. “But-”  
“Blitzwing,” Lugnut began. “I’ve tried not to say this for the past few years. But you need to get over yourself. Move on. Stop this from dragging you down like it is, because I’ve watched this _bullshit_ eat you up since it happened. I hate seeing you in pain and it’s taken you over. I know it’s hard, I understand, but would you rather pursue happiness or sit and wallow for the remaining eons of your life? Maybe this is harsh, maybe this is cruel,” Lugnut hesitated.

Blitzwing sighed. The apartment’s foyer-room was spacious, with a tiled floor that gave way to a carpet and a massive window that overlooked the Earth below - the sparkling metropolis of New York City, obstructed only by the occasional cloud. Below, the world moved. Moved on. But Blitzwing didn’t. He knew somewhere deep in his spark that Lugnut was right, but part of him also wanted to argue with his friend.  
The words stung. But they were truthful and he knew it.  
“But your grief changed you! It made you more fragile than I’ve ever seen you before,” Lugnut concluded, his voice not higher than a whisper. “It’s harsh, it sucks, and I don’t want to be your enemy. But please. Sixteen years of grieving is a little bit excessive, and I’ve dealt with too much of it myself. Your hope is futile. She’s gone, there’s nothing you can do about it. Move on”.

There was a couch in the corner - it was in front of an electric fireplace covered in fake plaster rocks, with artificial fire flickering behind a sheet of glass. On the fireplace hung a TV, with a flat black screen, and below it a shelf with a game console and cable TV box resting between a picture from Lugnut’s wedding day - back when they were at least a bit happier.  
Swindle stood beside Strika, his arms thrown over her shoulders, and Lugnut beside Strika with his head resting against her shoulder, as she was only a small bit taller than he was. Blitzwing - well, Jack-O’-Lantern, stood beside Lugnut, throwing its entire weight into Lugnut as if trying to wrap its arms around everyone. Like it was trying to hold the whole world against its chest. Poor Clobber was nothing but a green and purple blur along the bottom of the picture, having tripped in the way at the last possible second. Why they didn’t scrap the photo and take a new one was beyond Blitzwing, but Strika said that it added to the sentimentale of the photograph.  
Jack, Blitzwing knew, would agree. But not Red. He yelled at Clobber for being such a clutz afterwards. Blitzwing himself was a bit indifferent between the two.

Beside the fireplace in the corner was a wall of photographs, hung surrounding three flags - one, was a rainbow of vertical lines. Then a row of photos, and another which was three rows of pink, purple and then blue, then another which was shades of orange, white, and then two tones of pink. There was a small hallway leading down to the lavatory and four bedrooms, one of which was a guest room.  
On the opposite end of the carpeted hall was a tiled kitchen beside the front door - which was in turn beside a closet with an assortment of things, and tucked to the side was a dining table with four chairs surrounding it.  
It was a nice, neat, well-kept place. Blitzwing sat down on the couch and put his arms around the throw pillow that was tucked in the corner. He curled his legs in and sighed, watching the world below from the nearby window. Lugnut sighed, and stepped into Blitzwing’s line of sight. Tears raced down his face in a torrent - and when he saw Lugnut staring at him, he pressed his face into the pillow and turned his optics away from him. Lugnut sighed.

“Hey, let’s get you some tea,” he began, reaching a claw to the blanket haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch. He tossed it over Blitzwing and paced to the nearby kitchenette. “And you can stay as long as you need”.  
Blitzwing said nothing.  
Lugnut appeared beside him again, sitting down on the couch and staring at him. “Maybe I was a bit harsh. But-”  
“I know it’s something I need to hear, and I know you’re right,” Blitzwing interrupted with a quiver in his voice, which was muffled by the pillow he pressed himself into. “I won’t dispute it”.  
Lugnut sighed and said nothing - rather, reaching for the coffee table in front of him and carefully taking into his claw the TV remote that sat on it, which he had specifically modified with comically large buttons so that he could use it with his claws. He turned on the TV and set the remote back on the table before pacing back to the kitchen.

Blitzwing didn’t care about what station was on. Everything was too much to pay attention.  
He felt almost as he did back the afternoon he found the mess Necrostar left. That same crushing agony that consumed every fibre of his being.   
“Two creams, one sugar?” Lugnut asked from the kitchen. Blitzwing muttered a shaky ‘yeah’.   
Lugnut returned to Blitzwing’s side, setting on the coffee table a steaming mug of tea.   
And they spent the rest of the evening talking, until Blitzwing fell asleep.

The Nemesis was constantly crowded by bots all the color of a coral reef. The entire army lived on board the colossal warship - which attached to an even larger mothership known as the Lost Light. The Autobot ship, the Biscuiteer, also attached itself to the Lost Light.  
Blitzwing had to be somewhere. The bar that Mixmaster ran. Swindle wanted to talk to him again - spend time with him, after weeks of radio silence. He must’ve wanted something.  
Swindle himself had experienced loss - the love of his life, Lockdown, was killed by Necrostar as well. A contract that was trapped. A very common way for Necrostar to get a hold of _misthoforoi_ to either force them to work for them, or kill them brutally if they refuse or once their service was up. 

Before Lockdown left, though, he and Swindle had, eh, a one-night stand of sorts where both confessed their undying love for each other.  
And now, Swindle was left with two twin daughters who were now three years old - their names were Rosemary and Bayleaf respectively. Rosemary looked more like Lockdown, even assumed the form of a hot rod like him, while Bayleaf looked more like Swindle and assumed the form of a motorcycle.  
Blitzwing loved them like they were his own. They filled in the hole that Firebird left, and considering how their father has been suffering since Lockdown died… Blitzwing didn’t mind taking care of them. Especially if Swindle did what he talked about for weeks after Lockdown died and his twins were born. He talked of taking his own life more often than Blitzwing thought anyone should. And that, was saying something.

He didn’t want the poor girls to be alone, and he would gladly fill the older-brother roll.  
He shouldered his way through another crowded hallway and to a very disgruntled crowd of people - who were fussing at the closed-and-locked doors of Mixmaster’s bar.  
On it was a big sign that read “OUT ON TRIP. GO TO SWERVE’S”.  
Across the way was a virtually unbothered wooden door - a quaint little cafe called The Laughing Fox. It was owned by Thundercracker, one of the two remaining Decepticon princes.

Blitzwing sighed and pushed open the door - to a world that was the polar opposite of the halls outside. The hardwood creaked softly under his feet as he walked, with ornamented carpets covered in arabesques covering the floor below the tables and chairs. Fake plants hung in the massive ornamented windows, which filtered multi-colored light into the cafe. Stringed fairy-lights hung along the kind, art-deco ceiling, also woven with faux vines, which spiralled down wooden pillars that scattered themselves over the cafe. There were booths, and tables with chairs - and very few patrons.  
To the farthest side of the room was a huge bar, and the stench of coffee and breakfast foods wafted from it. Behind the table, scrubbing out a mug, was Thundercracker. He was whistling gently to the jazz on the radio, tending to a row of coffee pots and a flat-top stove which had big, round chocolate-chip pancakes simmering on it. On the farthest end of the bar, next to a pillar woven in fake vines was Swindle.   
He looked as depressed as usual, his head resting against one hand and a coffee mug in the other. In front of him was an empty plate. 

Blitzwing sighed, and paced across the creaking floor to the bar and its row of soft, red cushioned stools. Swindle glanced over before letting his optics fall back to the empty plate in front of him. “Hey,” Blitzwing began softly, putting an arm over the other’s shoulders. “Least you’re not drinking again”.  
Swindle forced a smile and said nothing.  
“How are the twins?” Swindle chuckled at his friend’s question.  
“How do you think they are?” Swindle asked.  
“...Not good?”  
“They’re surviving if that counts as good. But we’re going under. No business contracts, no money, no life. All since what happened, in all its unfortunate chaos”.  
“Do you three need somewhere to stay? I have three open rooms,” Blitzwing offered. “I live alone, remember?”

Swindle chuckled. “That’s very kind of you, Blitz,” he began, “But we have our own home already. It’s not that we don’t need anywhere to stay. We need food, I need a new job, because there’s no way people are going to sign contracts with me now when I have problems like this”.  
Blitzwing sighed and shook his head. “Blitzwing!” Began Thundercracker from the other end of the bar. “What can I get you?”  
“Eh--” Blitzwing began, turning his head to face the other. “--Mint tea, two creams, one sugar, and some chocolate-chip pancakes”. Thundercracker smiled and turned to the old-style kettle that was kept on the counter beside the fridge and rows of boxes of teas.  
“Are you-- gonna ask me to pay?”  
Thundercracker chuckled. “It’s on the house today”.  
“Thank you,” Blitzwing muttered. He turned his attention back to Swindle. “Look, I have some leftover food in my fridge, and I have to swing by the Lost Light and pick up groceries. You can come with me”.

“You’re too kind, but we’ll only be in your way-”  
“Shush! You won’t be in my way”.  
“But I can’t pay you back-”  
“Swindle, it’s okay”.  
“I-I’ll be fine”.  
“I know you won’t be fine. I’m trying to help you, and if you decide it’s a good idea to tag along, you can call me and I’ll wait on you”. Blitzwing smiled softly, but somewhere in his optics, behind the smile, was pain. “Anyways, you wanted to speak to me about something?”  
“Nothing big and important,” Swindle began. “I just wanted to be close to someone I trust”. Blitzwing chuckled.  
“Do you not have anything planned today?”  
“No,” Swindle began, his voice being drowned out suddenly by the fever-pitch scream of a kettle.  
Soon, Blitzwing had in front of him a steaming mug of mint tea and a small plate of pancakes. Swindle watched his friend, saying nothing to him.

“What do we know about Necrostar’s positions?” Barricade began.  
Another day at the longtable. Another day discussing their stands against Necrostar. Megatron - well, Requiem Prime, was lounging back on a throne of fused bones, his rich gray-and-black wings wrapped over his shoulders and down his front. Red optics sparkled at the table of elites - Soundwave, Shockwave, Barricade, Blackarachnia (and, a bowl of ramen), Blitzwing himself, and the Princes. Thundercracker and Skywarp. “They were last sighted here,” Blackarachnia began, waggling a finger vaguely towards the country of Canada on the map thrown over the table. “Ontario, Michigan area. Taking over whatever the Autobots left behind”.  
She shoved another fork of ramen into her mouth and sighed.  
Barricade spoke next. “Any details on their exact positions?”  
“No,” Megatron said. 

“Should we send scouts?” Skywarp muttered.  
“Too dangerous,” Soundwave said. He was sitting beside his husband, Shockwave, who was too busy fiddling with shii claws to pay any mind to what was happening in front of shii.  
“But if we use our holoforms,” Blitzwing interrupted, both of his hands pressed into the table, optics wide. “We can sneak right in there”.  
“Blitzwing, it’s too dangerous,” Megatron began. “It’s suicide”.  
“But what if I do come back? I can return with valuable intel-”  
“Blitzwing, it’s still suicide!” Megatron snapped, flaring his four massive wings out to his sides and slamming a fist into the table. The two ravens on either of his shoulders squawked and flapped their wings as they tried to right themselves on their companion’s shoulders. Slowly, he settled down on his bone-throne again.  
Silence.

“I just don’t want to lose any more people, especially ones I know so well,” Megatron muttered, his voice hardly above a whisper.  
He knew Blitzwing. He knew him well. He grew up with one of his sons, Bumblebee, and watched all the shenanigans he would get up to with Bee when they and their friends were just a bunch of annoying little kids with the world at their fingertips and imagination swirling in their heads. He didn’t want to risk losing someone he loved like a son and Blitzwing knew it.  
“It is a good idea, though,” Blackarachnia entered the conversation. Murmurs of agreement. “But how are we going to execute it?  
“I’ll go,” Blitzwing began. “I insist on it. I-- I’ll find a way in, I…”  
“Blitzwing…” Megatron trailed off, cocking his head and slumping his wings.  
“Megatron,” Shockwave began. “Let the kid go. He can come back with important information”.

“I… I don’t want to risk it”.  
“But I do,” Blitzwing snapped, slamming a hand into the table and shooting to his feet.   
“I…” Megatron hesitated. “Fine. Just… please come back to me. I refuse to lose you”.   
Blitzwing sighed. “No promises. Send me the coordinates. I leave at sundown”.


	4. When Doves Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infiltrating with surprising ease the supposed locations of Necrostar hideouts, Blitzwing finds more than what he bargains for... The hunt begins for the most dangerous game.

_"space may be the final frontier,_   
_but it's made in a hollywood basement,_   
_and cobain, can you hear the spheres singin' songs of station-to-station?"_   
_~ red hot chili peppers, 'californication' ~_

“Blitzwing,” Megatron began softly, having cornered the younger mech in the barracks. “Please, be careful”.  
“Psh, you stress over me like you’re my father”.   
“Well, I’m going to fuss over you more,” the larger one chuckled, clicking his tongue to one of the ravens on his shoulder - bright white, and covered in fine black swirls and knotting patterns. Icy blue eyes glimmered at Blitzwing, and in those eyes was wisdom unknown and powerful. The raven’s twin was black with white patterns, with eyes redder than rubies. The white raven was named Muninn - Memory. The black one was called Huginn - Thought.   
Muninn leapt onto Blitzwing’s shoulder, cawed loudly and set to preening himself.   
“I will be sending one of my ravens with you, to, you know - keep an eye on things. And if things go wrong I could send backup as soon as I possibly can”. Megatron sighed, butting his forehead against Blitzwing’s for a moment before turning on his heel. “There’s something that I left for you in your chambers, and I would suggest checking it out if you return, unless you deem it so urgent to investigate it now”. 

Blitzwing sighed. “I have an objective I would rather focus on now,” He began, “And my coordinates…? General location to look…?”  
“Downtown Detroit, a place they call, eh, Loyal Order of Moose Lodge, it’s near the river. On the corner of Cass avenue and a sidestreet. Not really a warehouse, but eh. If they’ve since relocated try the Brodhead Naval Armory on East Jefferson. Then if not there, the Old Wayne Country building on East Congress,” he began, “Those are the three places the Autobots used to hang out, and the three locations Necrostar hangs out in now the last time we checked”.  
Blitzwing nodded. They had been gliding serenely above the cloud-cover, as if the Nemesis itself was a cloud, the dark warship casting a foreboding shadow on the ground below. Everything about it was graceful and peaceful, as if the Nemesis was supposed to occupy Earth’s vast blue sky.

Megatron reached a hand up to a panel beside the window - which opened up a trapdoor below it for quick air-drop and support in a tight situation. With a guttural hiss, the trapdoor opened in front of Blitzwing’s feet, and he turned his optics towards Megatron, who cocked his head.  
“Go,” He said, “Before I change your mind and go myself because I _still_ think it’s too dangerous”.   
Blitzwing sighed, but he hesitated. “Megs,” he began, “If I don’t come back. If I wind up dead. Everything in my home goes to Swindle. Everything. The chest under my bed is to be split between Lugnut and his family, save for the twin daggers. They go to Rosemary and Bayleaf”.   
Megatron nodded slowly. “Should you pass into Valhalla, I will see that it’s done”.

Big city, lots of ground to cover.  
The Detroit River was a blueish ribbon that extended between Lake Erie and Lake Sainte-Claire. Spanning the river was the famous Ambassador Bridge, the crowning jewel of the Windsor-Detroit skyline, and the reason as to why both cities were one of the busiest border-cities between Canada and America.  
In the area, there was also the small hamlet of River Canard, and the town of Amherstburg. Windsor was tucked beside LaSalle, and beside LaSalle was Tecumseh. The largest of the municipalities was Lakeshore, which was tucked to the North of Leamington which rest to the West of Kingsville. There was a lot of country. Maybe too much.  
It was hard to tell when Essex Country started and ended unless one was looking at a map.  
The rest of the county wasn’t his concern. His focus was Detroit.

Muninn was flying somewhere behind the jet, the raven keeping his eyes locked on the jet as he flew.  
Blitzwing tilted lower to the city, rumbling low over the river and passing right under the teal-green Ambassador Bridge. He spiralled skyward once again as his radar pinged - he was near the first location, the Lodge. It was a squareish building - neoclassical, and was abandoned some time ago. Graffiti decorated the side, and a few heavily armoured vehicles were parked along the street.  
Bingo.  
He turned in an opposing direction, back towards the river. He had to be subtle. If he dropped into the river, the splash would draw attention. The sky was a dark, blistering orange now - slowly transitioning to a dark navy blue, with a few stars poking through the darkness. He sighed to himself. He sighed. It’s either now or never, he would throw himself into the river, bury himself as deep as he can in the silt, and hope that if Necrostar’s soldiers investigate they pass right over his head.

He glided low over the Detroit River, watching Muninn closely. The raven perched somewhere on the shores of the river, and as carefully as he could, Blitzwing set himself into the water and transformed.  
When he hit the bottom of the river, he squirmed about, kicking up massive clouds of silt. He squeezed his optics and his lips shut as to not accidentally get any in his optics and his mouth, before finally settling - covered in a dense layer of silt and mud, buried firmly in the bottom of the river. But how long he’d remain hidden was unknown. The river was only sixteen meters deep, anyways. Fifty-three feet of possibly getting discovered. And surely, somebody would notice the massive, suddenly appearing elevated mass of mud below the bridge.  
Whatever. If he was caught, he was good at running. And the Nemesis was right there - and no force of Necrostar’s, no matter how strong, would dare to attack a full-sized warship like the Nemesis unless they had a deathwish.

Now, his holoform - Baer Fischer, whose backstory was that he was an immigrant from Germany, who was currently twenty-four years old. He was tall, with rich brown eyes and black hair that laid arrow straight along his back. He was covered in scars and tattoos.   
How was he going to get the cast out of the river? Maybe if he’s careful, he can cast the holoform right along the shore…   
Whatever. He can just swim to the surface.   
Cybertronians had a strange natural ability - the ability to cast a holoform, or a holographic organic form. It was made of solid light, and felt and acted just as organic material did. And one could project their consciousness into the holoform - putting their soul inside of it, becoming the holoform, and with it, they could move the holoform as far from their bodies as they want.   
Blitzwing sighed. It’s either now or never, so with a bright flash his holoform appeared, floating just above where his head was buried. It shot to the surface with a kick, and paddled to the surface and emerged onto the coast.   
Blitzwing huffed a flurry of bubbles. It’s go time. 

Baer adjusted the collar around his neck, and cracked his knuckles - he was already dressed to infiltrate Necrostar, a heavy black suit with a mask resembling an eagle covering his face. Its beak was agape, and in the back of its mouth was a sheet of fabric that Baer was able to see through.  
Cass Avenue. Back to the Lodge.  
It was weird being so small. Surreal. Seeing the world from the perspective of beings much, much smaller than himself. The mask he wore over his face caught a few confused looks from fellow night-stragglers, but some nodded respectfully to him and praised the service he was doing to the human race against the alien menace.  
Baer felt like he was going to be sick. 

This is really how some people viewed Cybertronians who did nothing wrong to humans but just exist. If anything, they were guardians to their smaller sister-species. Standing, watching sentinels.  
They wanted to protect humans, but were only met with spite. Often he would lay awake at night and wonder if it was really worth his people’s lives. Protecting humans, that is. Their destinies were intertwined, destined to work together against the same enemy of the universe. But it was only met with resistance.  
Baer shook his head and forced a ‘Thank you’.  
He turned a corner - standing before the front doors of the building were two robed, masked guards.

Baer paced towards them, and stopped in front of them. They turned their masked faces towards him and both nodded in sync.  
Baer rubbed his hands together awkwardly - his hands were sweating.  
Right into the scraplet’s nest.  
The room was wide and vast - the outlines of where walls used to be left in the floor, some with gaping holes that led to the basement below. His footsteps echoed along the grand abandoned hall, light filtering in between boarded-up windows.  
The air was heavy and dense. But there was nobody around…  
He paced to one of the computers in the back corner - on a desk in the far corner, out of sight from the rest of the building.  
Was this really that easy?

Baer sighed heavily, pacing towards the computer. “You,” Spoke a sudden voice.  
It was gruff and deep, and the mask of a snarling wolf didn’t help. Baer stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned.  
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you here before, and I don’t appreciate unidentified soldiers walking into my territories”.  
Baer’s hands shook, and he rubbed his palms together awkwardly. He didn’t know what to say… “I…” He forced, “I’m a transfer agent from Germany”.  
The man nodded slowly. “And…?”  
“B-Baer is my name, Baer Fischer,” He added, fighting against the quiver in his voice. A silence fell. Muninn cawed somewhere in the distance before swooping in through a hole in the wall and hopping along the fractured beams in the ceiling. The white raven fixed an icy eye on Baer and the man, and preened himself. Baer smirked somewhere under his eagle-mask.

The man cocked his head.  
Baer cracked his knuckles. “So,” He said awkwardly.  
“You. Register on the computer in the corner. I don’t trust you, so we’ll be watching. Don’t do anything funny, and I do suggest notifying our other two locations about your existence here as well”.  
Baer sighed, the man clapped him on the shoulder with hands colder than ice, and paced off into the darkness into another room, barking orders.  
Now was his chance. Nobody was watching. If only he could stop sweating under his mask, if only he could slow his thundering heartbeat and the thoughts spinning in his head.

He so badly wanted to cry up to the raven in the rafters that he did it, that he was in, finally, and could rise to power and dismantle Necrostar from the inside like Shockwave almost did to the Autobots when the Decepticon/Autobot rivalry was still a thing. Longarm, what a genius move, and excellent illusion magic. It was because of shii that they had to place charms on major entrances to places so that they could check if someone was using magic to disguise who they really were.  
Alternatively, he was scared. More than scared.   
These humans. Baer always thought they were small, weak and if anything needed protection from the wider universe and things much larger and more dangerous than themselves out there. He always knew there was more to humans than what met the optics, they were intelligent and strong in numbers. But how strong never occurred to him. One singular human, one singular specially trained human, was of enough wit and sheer gall to take down a fully grown Cybertronian that stood stories tall.   
That terrified Baer down to his core. Humans were tiny and fragile, which was the greatest deception he has ever laid witness to. 

Humans and their dexterity, and their sheer intelligence, and their persistence. On gods, their persistence.   
At any moment, his cover would be blown. And signing in - when Baer Fischer never truly existed - would prove to be a challenge. He couldn’t just lie.  
If only he had learned a thing or two from Shockwave. Maybe if shi was willing to help him, shi would’ve placed a charm over Baer so that those who speak to him will be deceived as to who he truly was. If only he had more help than what he was given.  
If he wasn’t going alone - which, now he scolded himself for - they would be able to act quicker. But perhaps going alone was good after all - there was only one of him, only he had to lie, and it didn’t drag up any suspicions.  
Yet.

He stopped in front of the computer - passing a glance around his surroundings. Nobody was nearby.   
This felt more like a storage unit than a base-of-operations. It was almost as if they… knew.   
He clicked open a program - the only program on the screen, with the symbol of a snarling cobra with the world in its teeth, and snakes surrounding it like the hair of Medusa.   
He clicked it - presumably, the sign-in and verification.   
Something… else, popped up. He found himself staring at the face of the man with the wolf-mask, and beside it, a list of entries:

Baer’s heart skipped a beat. Jackpot.  
He had his information. Keywords; Pommel. Operation Typhon. The Hand of Necrostar.  
Some stuff they had already known about - Necrostar’s different divisions scattered around the world, and how they were led by people known as Arches, who hid their identities with fancy names.  
One of these Arches, in a brilliant moment of betrayal, joined forces with the Rescue Bots. He was known as The Blade before he betrayed Necrostar. Baer didn’t know much about whoever The Blade was, just that he sent ripples through both Autobot and Decepticon factions with his spontaneous side-switching and rebuilding himself a Cybertronian body after his organic body was almost blown to nothing.

Perhaps The Blade would know of The Pommel. But it’s not likely, considering how Baer knew of the distrust between the rest of Necrostar and The Blade.  
In the distance, Muninn cawed again. But this time, it was a caw of concern. Worry.  
Baer sighed, closed the programme, and paced back across the room to the front entrance. He would just walk right out.  
The guards weren’t there. A bad feeling pulled at Baer’s gut - and he sighed, wandering into a nearby alleyway.  
He spun around, assuring that nobody had followed him or would see him - and shed his mask. In a flash, his suit was swapped with a baggy sweater with the Peterbilt logo on the left side, and under it a T-shirt for the band Metallica. The sweater was unzipped halfway, revealing logo art for _Ride the Lightning_ , and below it, the song titles. One of which, just barely exposed, was _For Whom The Bell Tolls_.

He had the shirt custom made. Favourite album, and a list of favourite songs.  
He wore baggy street jeans, and dirty old gray Converse shoes, and over his shoulders was a dark black tactical bag. He brushed his hair behind his ear, and adjusted the full-moon glasses over his eyes and the aviator’s cap he wore atop his head.  
And he paced out onto the street. Normal human doing normal human things.  
He looked up - Muninn was circling overhead, every so often cawing out into the night sky. “I know,” Baer muttered. “I’m going to be ok”.  
He retraced his steps back towards the river. His next objective - the Wayne County building.

Same routine as always. Walk in, say he’s checking in under instruction from a general at the Lodge. There were no guards out there - only an open door with basically “COME ON IN” scrawled on it.  
With a flash, Baer switched attire again. This time, his mask was that of a roaring bear.  
More fitting, he felt. Was it normal for them to have different animal masks?  
He hoped. He paced into the old, creaking, Colonial-era building and breathed in a nose-full of musk.  
The place had long since been unoccupied. If Necrostar was here, they left long ago.  
However, something caught Baer’s eye in the dull light cast through holes by the full moon. A filing cabinet, and on it, a tiny blinking light. The source of the faux signal.  
Or was it a trap?

Whatever. Baer zipped towards the cabinet - jostling at the drawers. He had to get in.  
He had to find more information. About The Pommel, about Operation Typhon… The ‘specimen’.  
The drawer of the old, rusted cabinet refused to budge. Muninn cawed again - nine times this time, with increasing distress. A pause of nine seconds. More cawing.  
Baer jiggled the drawer again - and with a screech, it slid open.  
Inside was a singular folder-file. This felt so much like a trap.  
Building in his stomach, burning up his throat and dancing out as trembling lips was a feeling of dread. Muninn desired something, begging for attention.  
Baer sighed. Hyperion.

He held out one arm to the side - his skin began to glow, the light shifting under his skin, then seeping out and overtop, the glowing mass absorbing his arm before flopping onto the floor and weaving into the shape of a monster. The body of a lion with fur as black as night and eyes redder than flames, with the head of a black goat on its right side, and a tail of a black mamba, which flicked its tongue and hissed.  
His familiar. A Chimaera named Hyperion.  
The snake turned beady black eyes to Baer and flicked its tongue. Suddenly, Baer grabbed the folder file and leapt onto the beast’s back.  
The goat’s head bleated, and the lion snarled. The snake’s tail melted away, and the goat’s head did too - the lion slowly shifted, as if made of liquid, into a grand black stallion.  
There we go. More subtle.  
At least somewhat more subtle. He kneed the horse’s side, and it snorted a jet of flame.

With a flash he changed his outfit yet again - to a fancily dressed jockey, with a gentle black suit and a black cowboy hat hiding his eyes.  
Familiars and their shapeshifting. Holoforms and their easy-to-manipulate attires. Perfect for any situation.   
Hyperion trotted into the street and onto the road, carefully trotting along to their next destination. And on the way, he opened up the abandoned, old file. Why did he take it, knowing damn well it must be a trap?   
He was desperate to unveil the face of The Pommel.   
And to his shock - the only thing inside of the file was a singular piece of paper, the same profile as always - but the last entry stated something different;

Baer felt like he was going to heave onto the street beside him right there.  
Newfound rage - rage he hadn’t felt tearing and clawing at his insides like a feral beast in sixteen years.  
They had her.  
And he knew who took her.  
He was right. She wasn’t dead. She was out there, and she was searching for him. But not for a family reunion - she was out for bloodshed.  
Maybe - just maybe, he could steal a glance at her. Even if it cost him his life. But what if he tried to save her? What if he tried to free her from Necrostar’s control? What if she didn’t have to die? This didn’t have to be life or death.  
He closed the folder, and shoved it into the saddlebag that dangled around Hyperion’s neck.  
Part of him yearned to see her again. Those brilliant golden optics, and the sheen to her bright red metal. But part of him was afraid - how did they change her?  
Aside from changing her name. Phoenix. Fee-ne-kass. 

Hyperion stopped suddenly - standing in front of the beast was a tall, concrete building right along the water’s edge - and it was surrounded by guards.  
With a flash, Baer changed back again - the mask of a screeching eagle once more. Baer reached into the saddlebag, grabbed the folder-file, and tucked it into his suit-jacket.   
He slid off of Hyperion’s back, and the beast vanished with a snort.   
He made haste, his steps fast and blood rushing in his ears. He puffed his chest and strode with as much confidence as he could muster - right past the guards, who didn’t ask any questions.   
But if he were to remove his mask, there would be questions. Their animal-masks were like identification cards.

And inside, the building was full of life. Soldiers milled about doing drills, intel agents rushed back and forth like ants in a garden, and slumped in the corner was another Cybertronian.  
His metal was a rich black, with white stripes running along his legs - his optics were dark black, with rich red irises. Around his chest was what looked to be a harness of gold, and around his neck more gold danglings and patterns. He was staring directly at Baer.  
The wings on his back twitched as he shifted up onto his feet.  
Now Baer understood how humans felt when they looked up at him. Small. Pathetic. The bot - a young one, maybe no older than 14, stopped in front of Baer. “You,” he began, his voice soft and gentle, but with it a razor-sharp edge. “I’ve never seen you before”.  
“I-” Baer was at a loss for words. A stolen child, right here. Standing in front of him. He opened his mouth and closed it, then opened it again and closed it again, as if he was speaking but couldn’t. The boy’s sharp black-and-red optics narrowed. “I-I’m Baer, Baer Fischer. I’m a transfer agent from Germany”.

“Baer. I’m one of the agents of the Burnt Cohort. We’re led by Phoenix - I’m called Metallica. I found and killed both my fathers when I was six. I’m the first of my Cohort to do so. The others are Phoenix herself, Savage Garden, Dire Straits, Rusted Root, Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stone, Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden”. At this, the boy knelt down onto a knee and offered a silicone-padded hand to Baer.  
Awkwardly, Baer reached a hand up to shake it - but when his hand touched that silicone, a shock shot up Baer’s arm - and clearly, Metallica felt it too, as his optics suddenly widened, then narrowed again as he withdrew his hand.  
“You better watch yourself,” He growled. “Weirdo”.  
He turned on his heel and paced to an open garage door, and disappeared into the vast, empty space. And inside, there was shouting and clamour.

Baer sighed. He would know the noise of teens horsing around anywhere. That would be where he’s going.  
He paced alongside intel officers and past drilling soldiers to the back room - windows lined the ceiling, all having long since been boarded up. Small holes between the boards allowed in rays of moon’s light and shadow.  
The hall was lit by portable floodlights, which were blindingly bright when one would look directly at them. In the farthest corner of the room slumped Metallica, who was sitting beside a smaller bot, easily the same age as him - with sky blue metal, covered in bright psychedelic patterns of flowers and peace-signs. On his chest was the Volkswagen logo.  
There was another bot standing beside where the overly-colorful one sat. One foot was pressed against the wall, and set between his fingers was presumably a blunt of sorts. He looked the oldest - 17? 18? His metal was as black as night, as were his optics, and he was covered in sharp layers of metal like a knight’s armor. His helm was even shaped like a knight’s bascinet helmet, with the grill folded onto his forehead. 

Metallica’s optics shot to Baer suddenly. Hypervigilance, perhaps. Like he could sense everybody within a few meters of him. “Baer!” He began loudly, rising from his seat.  
Baer paced over awkwardly. “Hey, uhh-- this is where we hang out. Sleep. Do everything we’re supposed to do. I’d like to introduce you to the people I grew up with-” He pointed a long, clawed finger to the black knight. “That’s Iron Maiden. And that--” He pointed towards the psychedelic Volkswagen. “That’s Rusted Root”.  
Iron Maiden glanced up, growled, and turned his attention back to the floor. Rusted Root offered a smile and a peace-sign.  
“Over here--” Metallica pointed another clawed finger towards the other end of the room - Baer had to tilt his head around a corner.  
There was a larger bot - probably Bulkhead’s size, with metal toned in various shades of gray. He was tussling with a smaller bot, with sparkling bronze metal and steam curling from smoke-stacks on his shoulders. 

“The gray one is Rolling Stone,” Metallica began, “And the bronze one is Led Zeppelin”. Metallica threw another finger towards another group, watching the other two tussle. One was somehow more black-colored than Iron Maiden was, but rather than looking like a Medieval knight, he looked like a Spartan soldier - with a chest like a chestplate decorated with abs, round shoulder guards that attached like a harness around his waist, and a dense black cape tucked under them. His shoulders and hips hung with dangling strips of metal like decoration on the shoulder-pads, or a belt around his hips. Even his legs were wrapped in bands like sandal straps, and his helm looked like that of a hoplite’s helmet - complete with a plume of hair, but rather than being hair, it was metal. His optics were a rich red.

He was slumped boredly against the wall, beside another with bright lime green metal patterned in gray. She was leaning against the black Spartan’s shoulder, optics closed in rest. The other beside her was wrapped up in a tarp in a little ball, but what Baer could see, his metal was pale brownish-beige.  
“The Spartan lookin’ guy - that’s Black Sabbath, and beside him is Savage Garden, and beside her is Dire Straits. This leaves us our great, noble leader--” Metallica continued.

Baer’s eyes fell to probably the largest of the group next to Rolling Stone - with metal redder than cherries, but everything from her waistline down faded into hues of orange and yellow, as if she was being consumed by flame. Golden optics watched from the corner, a snarl woven on her lips. As if Rolling Stone and Led Zeppelin were wrestling for her entertainment.  
It was her. It really was her.  
Baer knew those brilliant optics, golder than coins. Brighter than a star. A gaze he had missed and was desperate to return for the last sixteen years.  
Suddenly, she grabbed the back of Led Zeppelin’s smoke stacks and yanked him back, throwing him into the wall with a bang.  
Rolling Stone shuffled to his feet awkwardly, and sat along the wall. “Metallica!” She barked - her voice was powerful, and those who heard it shifted awkwardly where they stood or sat. All their optics fell to her.

“Phoenix! I was just introducing this transfer to everyone--”  
“Get over here,” she commanded. “Forget the human. They’re not worth our time”. She turned her back to Metallica and Baer, who shot a smirk at Baer and paced to join Phoenix’s side.   
And when she turned her back… Baer’s heart sped in his chest. And on her back, between the wings on her shoulders, was a birthmark - a blob of slightly-darker red that looked vaguely like a falcon's head.   
He knew that mark all too well.   
It was that exact mark. “F-Firebird,” he muttered softly - relief washed over him, she was alive. She was standing right in front of him. So tantalizingly out of reach. He wanted to run to her, to tell her that he loved her still, that he could take her home for the first time since she was born.   
But he also knew that as easily he could do that, he would be torn apart by her.   
He turned and sighed. He was done here. He got his satisfaction, now he needed a plan--

An alarm whooped overhead. Instantly, clamour. Soldiers rushing to and fro, grabbing weapons and tools alike - the alarm blasted three times fast, then one time slowly.   
Code for something.   
The first one to rush out of the hall behind him was Phoenix, followed by the other kids - all of them hustling in sync. And there was chatter -- “A Cybertronian? Here? In the river?” Said one soldier that sprinted past.   
“We think it’s dead,” said another, “Our sensors are only picking it up now--”   
Baer’s heart thundered and his breath quickened. He sprinted from the hall, hiding among the flow of soldiers - making haste towards the river, plunging inside and vanishing.

Blitzwing opened his optics, and coughed up a flurry of bubbles and shook off heavy, wet silt. Well, what was left. The silt must’ve muffled his signal, but with the current of the river, it washed it away. He rose from the river and shook his shoulders. With the whirl of his face-plates, Red appeared. He snarled, turning on his heel to the shore - colored black with Necrostar agents, and among them, the Burnt Cohort.  
Red felt his spark break. They were just kids, they didn’t deserve this. He didn’t know exactly what Blitzwing knew, but had a feeling he would learn in time - and he watched with mounting horror as the gathering of soldiers, some even springing right out of bushes and places nobody would’ve noticed them, surrounded the Cohort and tugged on brightly-glowing chains that were tied around their necks, arms and middles. The fliers had their wings and rotors clasped together, and judging by the heat rising off of the chains and their glowing, they were hot. Whenever a soldier or a group of soldiers were to pull on the chains, a scream would rise from the throat of whoever was being pulled along like some beast.

Red had to act. He jerked his shoulder. “YOU LET THOSE KIDS GO!” He cried, the barrel of the gun glowing vibrantly.   
His faceplates whirled again.   
The gun righted itself and ceased its glow - it was Blitzwing again. He shook his head, tears welling in his optics. Muninn circled somewhere below over the forces preparing to advance along the river.   
With a leap and a twirl, Blitzwing changed form and shot into the clouds above. With a hiss, he turned on his com-link. “Megatron,” He began, “Uuhh -- I have some information, but uhh--” His voice shook.   
“Blitwing,” Megatron responded - his voice was creaking with tiredness. “We’re still above the city. Are you okay?”   
“Being pursued,” Blitzwing sobbed. He broke the cloud-cover - sure enough, the Nemesis was somewhere high above.   
Now to get there. His com-link went silent. 

He wasn’t the only one who had risen into the clouds. Tailing behind him was Phoenix - hot on his tail, in the form of an F-86 Sabre. She was so much like him.  
If only he could’ve given her a better life than this. If only he had a say.  
But he did - once more blaming himself, needlessly blaming himself for losing her. But it was his fault - if he had taken her with him, or didn’t take the mission, she wouldn’t be in this situation-  
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Firebird, I’m sorry. I never should’ve left you”. He knew she wouldn’t hear him - or care to listen to him - but he had to say it. The words had to leave his thoughts.  
He was an F-15 Eagle, he could easily out-fly her. Part of him wanted to, knowing damn well that this was life or death. But another part of him wanted to vanish into the clouds, to fly alongside her, admire her in her serene beauty, in the sky where she belongs. She was his lost shooting star.

Somewhere behind him, Phoenix spiralled in a roll, and something shot hot and dangerously close to his wing. He curved out of the way - he refused to fire on her. With a crackle, a voice like poison growled to him on the com-link. “Bad idea,” Growled the voice - rising from the clouds below him was Metallica, who slammed hard into Blitzwing’s underbelly, sending both spiralling to the fields below.   
They must be somewhere over Essex now. Maybe a bit further.   
“Warning shot while we surround ‘em from below, works every time,” Metallica growled. “What should we do with him?”   
Phoenix and Metallica were circling each other now - like fallen angels challenging the rim of heaven. “Leave, Metallica. He’s mine. This is my hunt, not yours. Notify The Pommel, we have a Decepticon elite on our hands - and my father”.


	5. Californication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blitzwing is a prisoner of Phoenix, but an unexpected visitor comes to his aid. Escaping with minor injuries, he returns to the Nemesis to deliver information to Megatron before heading back out. He knows he's being hunted, and it's only a matter of time before she catches up to him again and he knows it.

_when you cried, i'd wipe away all of your tears_  
_when you'd scream i'd fight away all of your fears,_  
_and i held your hand through all of these years,_  
_but you still have_  
_all of me_  
_~ evanescence, 'my immortal' ~_

Blitzwing’s head hurt.    
It ached as if Sleipnir kicked him in the head with all four of his back legs, at full strength. So blindingly painful was his headache that his vision swam and stars flashed in his optics. He squeezed his optics shut and opened them again.   
He was dizzy, sore, and felt sick to his tanks.   
Concussion. Not good. He must’ve went out before he struck the ground.   
Muninn was circling somewhere overhead, a white speck against the blue sky high above.    
Megatron surely knew what happened, he must’ve seen everything through his raven’s eyes. At least Blitzwing hoped in his spark that the god saw it.   


Blitzwing lolled his head - sitting a few yards in front of him was Phoenix. He tried to move - he couldn’t, and his optics fell to the bright sparkling chains that were bound around his body. With every move he made, they tightened. He sighed, and turned his optics back to Phoenix, who was sitting in front of a fire and above it, a pot on a grill that the flames reached up to lick. Steam curled from the holes punched in the lid of the pot - and whatever was inside, smelled mouth-wateringly good.  
Phoenix sat with a bowl in her hands - every so often raising it to her lips and sipping the contents.  
There was a dangerous beauty about her, like a panther reclining on rocks in the sun. Dangerous but serenely beautiful. She didn’t cast a glance to him.   


“Firebird,” Blitzwing forced. “You-- you’re alive!”   
“Silence,” Phoenix growled. “You don’t know me. You never did”. She set her bowl on the ground beside her, and stalked towards where Blitzwing sat slumped against an old, rusted, abandoned tractor.   
“Firebird--”   
“My name is not Firebird,” She growled, “It’s Phoenix”.   
“Firebird was the name I gave you--”   
“BEFORE YOU ABANDONED ME!” She roared. “Before Necrostar saved me!” 

“They didn’t save you! They stole you from me!” Blitzwing snapped, tears welling in his optics. “I have grieved and cried and worried for sixteen long years, I have been fighting to find you, and the other stolen children--”   
“We weren’t stolen,” Phoenix growled, turning her back on Blitzwing. “We were saved from parents that never  _ FUCKING _ loved us! And we are  _ GRATEFUL _ to them for giving us  _ LIVES _ !” She roared, “I have been hunting you for as long as I can remember, and I have craved feeling your neck break under my hands. To watch the light fade from your optics. To know that I fucking won, that you are no more. You haven’t shed a tear for me, you never loved me-”   


“Firebird,” Blitzwing whimpered. “They’ve used you. They turned you into a weapon. I have loved you with everything I have, I have fought and cried for you. They didn’t give you a life, they stole it from you, Firebird. Please just come home with me, we can build something new. But if snuffing my spark -- if seeing me dead is what brings you joy, you have me now. Are you going to challenge the faux destiny Necrostar laid out for you, are you going to shatter your chains, or are you going to let them kill you when they have no use for you? You are just their tool”.   
Phoenix stamped her foot and huffed. 

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you,” she said, “Whoever you think I am died long ago. And I was reborn - I am Phoenix. Remember it, and know it well, because it is the last thing you will hear before I _TEAR YOUR SPARK OUT!_ ”  
She rounded on Blitzwing, her forearms folding open - and curling from them, two long sabres.  
Blitzwing froze, turning his head away from her.  
Suddenly, the tractor Blitzwing was leaning against began to move - wresting itself from the earth, two massive rear tires weaving themselves into thin tassels that covered his chest and under his arms - several of them were missing or torn in two. His metal must’ve been red at some point - now hidden under layers of rich brown rust from years of being abandoned. His head rose from his grill, which folded onto his shoulders, and the hubcaps on what was his rear back wheel folded into a cowboy hat that hung off his hip - his feet resembled cowboy boots, with his smaller back-wheels forming spurs that curled around the heel.   


The smokestack on his head huffed black smoke, and dim optics sparkled at Blitzwing as he grabbed the cowboy hat (hubcaps?) off his hip and threw it over his head - a hole conveniently in place for the smoke-stack on the top of his head. He narrowed his optics as Blitzwing flopped onto his back behind the tractor.  
On his chest was the Autobot insignia. “I was gettin’ real tired’o’listenin’t you airin’ your lungs there, miss,” he began, placing his hands on his hips. There were rusted holes in his metal exposing his interior workings - which unsettled Blitzwing. Was that uncomfortable? Did it hurt?  
Was he here to hurt him?  
“Who the fuck are you?” Phoenix stammered as she gazed with wide optics at what used to be a half-buried tractor.   


It was all happening too fast and made Blitzwing’s head hurt more. But he said nothing. Whatever was about to happen, he was ready to accept his fate    
“Th’name’s Iron. Big Iron. It’d be best if’y knew that n’ knew it well, Princess”.   
Phoenix growled low in her throat and stalked towards the other.   
Big Iron glared at Phoenix. He didn’t flinch. He held his ground with a stare like venom - and Phoenix froze in her tracks.    
He bent down and pulled Blitzwing up by the chains - which unravelled them in the process. “You, eh, can’y transform?” Blitzwing struggled to his feet, raising a hand to his forehead as his head spun again and thrummed like drumbeats.    
“I--I don’t know,” Blitzwing muttered.    
“I’ll hold ‘er off, ya best be makin’ a runnin’ start while I’m at it. Keep your saddle oil’d n’ yer gun greased, pardner. Now git!”   
“You have no idea who you’re up against--” Blitzwing began. “You don’t know, do you?”   
“I said, GIT!”   
“Just… Don’t hurt her--”   
“GIT!”   
Blitzwing’s head thrummed as he made off with a sprint, not daring to look over his shoulder once. He transformed - with, some great struggle, and shot off into the sky with a crackling bang.  
In the distance, Phoenix shook off her gaze, and engaged Big Iron.

Blitzwing flew until he almost ran right into the Nemesis.   
He would’ve if it wasn’t for Soundwave being in the throne room at the right time, with the right window open, Blitzwing would’ve crashed right through the glass or splatted against the window like an oversized bug.   
Muninn swooped in behind him as Soundwave fell to his knees in front of Blitzwing.   
His head swam and his vision swam with a thousand colors. He felt sick and his vision kept darting in and out and in and out and he was overheated, sore, and needed the fattest nap in the history of fat naps.   
Soundwave’s wings drooped at his side. They were shimmering, dark black with a bright violet sheen like the neck of a grackle, and on the feather was this symbol;

It was the rune known as Wunjo - the sacred symbol of Sonorous Prime, or more commonly - Soundwave. It symbolized joy and hope. What mockery of fate was this, that of all Primes that Blitzwing was to run into, it had to be the god of music, joy and celebration. It would’ve been better if Requiem was the one that stood over him.  
He was a god of death. Death would’ve been better to cross than Joy.  
Soundwave rose and fluffed out his four wings, and held out his arm to allow Muninn to perch.  
Rushing into the room next was Megatron - Requiem Prime.  
Muninn promptly leapt from Soundwave’s arm to join Huginn on Megatron’s shoulder. Both ravens set to preening each other.  
“Blitz,” Megatron gasped softly, kneeling beside the other and draping two wings over him. “Are you ok?”  


He rolled over. He was too tired. Overheated, tired, emotionally drained, and in pain. He groaned.  
“Can you move?”  
He shook his head and groaned again. His chest was beating like a bird desperate to break free from its cage, his vents rattling with rushing breaths.  
“You overworked yourself,” Megatron sighed, turning his head over his shoulder to Soundwave. “Get the medic,” he said, “I want to see him rested and evaluated for any damages to his systems”.  
Soundwave nodded and silently whisked from the throne room.  
This left Megatron alone with Blitzwing.  
“I--” He panted. “I saw her--”  


“Shh,” Megatron soothed, pressing a palm into the other’s chest. “Rest now, child,” he muttered, his voice softer than silk and as silent as a breeze through grass. Blitzwing rest a shaking hand over Megatron’s.  
“I--I feel like I’m-- dying,” he panted out, tears spilling down his face.  
He was scared. Not for himself.  
For Firebird. For the other kids. For those Necrostar hurt and will continue to hurt. “You aren’t, and if you were I would know. You are weak. Rest”.  
Blitzwing said nothing else. His chest slowed its beating under Megatron’s hand. The Raven-Lord heaved a sigh, and Blitzwing’s vision grew dark.

He woke in the med-bay, with something soft and fluffy laying in his face, white with black patterns. It was beside another mass of fluff - black with white patterns.  
Megatron’s ravens.  
Blitzwing inhaled a mouthful of feathers, which startled the white raven, Muninn, to his feet. This in turn also disturbed the black raven, Huginn - both of which were having a grand old time loafing on Blitzwing’s face.  
Both ravens squawked, fluttering to the door - and onto the shoulders of Megatron, who was pacing into the medbay room.  


“You’re hovering around me, aren’t you?” Blitzwing asked, “Fuck, my head”.   
“You have a concussion,” Megatron began. “The ravens worried for you”.   
Blitzwing offered a smile at the ravens preening each other. “I… There’s so much I have to say,” He began gently, “And so much happened last night and-- this morning and--”   
Megatron shushed him, and paced to the chair tucked beside the bed. He sat down. “We’ll have time. Take it slow. As for your concussion-” Megatron paused, “I called in Ratchet to place a sigil in your head. It’s not much, but it should nullify the symptoms at least until it heals. I know that you must be antsy to get out, for closure regarding your, ah, situation”.   
“You already know?”   
“Muninn told me, as both my ravens tell me all they see. And I have a little thing called foresight on my side”. 

Blitzwing groaned. “Well… I do want to get out as soon as I can--” He hissed between his teeth, “But-- There’s so much that happened. I. Met someone. Several people”.  
“Mhm?”  
“One - the group of kids that Firebir-- Phoenix, leads. Metallica. Dire Straits. Led Zeppelin. Rolling Stone. Savage Garden. Rusted Root. Iron Maiden. Black Sabbath. Nine of them”.  
“Mhm?”  
“Do any of those names ring bells?”  
“... Plenty, actually. All missing children taken around the same time, not long after yours was taken. Anything else?”  
“Someone… who saved my life. Big Iron, he called himself-”  
“Wait, Big Iron? _THE_ Big Iron?”  


“I mean-- I’ve never heard of him before--”  
Megatron’s eyes shone purple as the light shone on them, ruby-red fading to rich violet. “He’s an Autobot legend! He still lives? I-- We have to tell Optimus!”  
“But-- There’s some information I collected”.  
“R-Right,” Megatron stuttered, his smile beaming. “Continue”.  
“Well… I have a name. The Pommel. A project - Operation Typhon. They’ve been taking children since they took Firebird”.

“Ah. I’ll notify Soundwave. We’ll double our patrols and our scans. What are you going to do about Firebird?”  
“I… I’m going out there tomorrow. I’m going to try and save her. I have to. I need to show her that I didn’t abandon her, that I’m going to come back for her”. Megatron chuckled sweetly.  
“Brave man,” He complimented, “If I was in your position I would do the same for my own children, like trying to wipe out the Purity after - you know the story of Starscream”.  
“Yeah…”  
“Look, if you’re going to leave tomorrow, Muninn is going to accompany you. And on the road, very soon, you will meet someone very special who has a thing or two to say about you, and the parcel I left in your apartment. He isn’t an enemy, though his words may make him seem like he is. Trust what he says”.  
Blitzwing nodded.  
“But for now you have to sleep. Take as long as you need to recover, and you should be feeling better come the rise of the sun”.  


He sighed.   
He had left the Nemesis an hour previous, and sure enough, Muninn was following behind him. At least this time he brought something with him - a radio, and on it, a favourite song of his.   
He was humming along to it;

_ “If heaven’s grief brings hell’s reign, _ _  
_ _ Then I’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday. _ _  
_ _ I know I’m bad news, _ _  
_ _ I saved it up for you, _ _  
_ _ I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way, _ _  
_ _ Still, I’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday”. _

  
It was another human band he listened to in passing thanks to Swindle. Another line that struck too much of a chord with him - from a different song - “The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger”.  
He didn’t expect the band to grow on him like this. It wasn’t the thrashing headbanging stuff or heavy metal he listened to most of the time. It was softer - a nice change of pace.  


Phoenix would be tracking his signal any time soon, and she’d be after him again. Maybe this time he’d have a chance to talk to her.   
But he had other things on his mind. Returning to where he met Big Iron - hoping to find something, maybe a body. Or hopefully, he’d be alive somewhere. Some sign of him being alive.   
But for now, he flew into the sunrise - the clouds fluffy and white and as welcoming as a warm bed.   
His head hurt still - but less than it did when he arrived home. Damn, Ratchet was good.   
So much was on his mind. So much he wanted to say.   
All he could do is hope he’d have a chance to say it all.


	6. Black Hole Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having escaped from Phoenix's snare and back to the Nemesis, Blitzwing leaves once more, not only to expose himself to Phoenix, but to find answers. To hatch a plan to save her. The road ahead is long and hard and times are uncertain, but he has a great weapon on his side - his hope, and with it, friends new and old.

_"and all these whispers of silver and gold,_   
_i'd throw them all away_   
_to gaze on your face once more"_   
_~ aether realm, 'the sun, the moon, the star' ~_

Hagall.   
The Hailstorm. The mark that decorated Megatron’s feathers, rich gray, flecked in black. There was a cluster of these feathers hanging on Blitzwing’s wheel in his cockpit as he flew. A gift, so to speak, from the Lord of Death.   
Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was questionable.    
No one wants to be watched by a god of death and decay. But that wasn’t all Megatron ruled over - he was also a lord of knowledge-lust, wisdom, and the never-ending search for knowing more. The god of foresight.   
Others would take the attention of a god of death as a bad sign, failing to know that it could also serve as a good omen.   
He’d known Megatron - Requiem Prime - almost his whole life. He grew up alongside his son, Bumblebee - Arboreal Prime. Blitzwing had even known Megatron’s husband, who was called Orion Pax - Optimus Prime.   
And there were three more that Megatron had married. Rodimus Prime, known before as Hot Rod. Apollon Prime, known then as Ratchet. Frostglade Prime, known then as Drift. A god of death, a god of life, a god of healing, a god of cycles and rebirth, and a god of ice and snow. What a bunch they were.   


Blitzwing knew nothing of their childhoods, just that they met each other sometime in their teen years and hit it off, first as best friends, and recently as lovers.   
Blitzwing somewhat envied them. To find love like that. He’d always been alone.  
He had friends, childhood friends. Even friends he met among the other Decepticons. But never a lover.   
Except that time he got with Bee on his 17th birthday. They were together for three years, loved each other to death, then broke up. Not on any bad terms, no, just that they found they didn’t click right, they didn’t feel like they were ready.  
Blitzwing still had conflicting feelings about his childhood friend. He hadn’t exchanged chatter with the smaller yellow bot in ages. He’d seen him, but never had time to stop and chat. Nowadays he was too busy ensuring the nature of Earth was healthy, and that the seasons were on time, and that the summer was hot enough, and that the trees were green enough, and that the earth was bounteous enough.  


He spent more time in the greenhouse than outside of it, too, where he grew as many plants as he could - even ones from the other eight Realms. Sometimes, Blitzwing would find a little bumblebee buzzing about his room, buzzing around his head, and he would know that somewhere, Bee was thinking of him. At least he hadn’t forgotten.   
Blitzwing still felt love for the other. Not really romantic, not really platonic - just love. He sighed to himself.   
The fields of Essex rolled along below him, a rushing field of rich browns and greens, and the occasional grand farmhouse or ranch. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find where he was held hostage - the crater where he must’ve made impact after falling unconscious, and somewhere near it the disturbance in the earth from Big Iron.   
Maybe Blitzwing would find his body there. Give him a proper send-off. Hope the Valkyries took his soul to the Golden Hall.

But part of him had a feeling - a gut sense, that Big Iron hadn’t passed into the next world yet. He hoped, hell, even prayed to himself that he would see him again. Thank him for his daring.  
His blissful ignorance. He had no idea who he was even up against, but he still threw himself at her with reckless abandon.   
The headwinds were strong today, resisting against him as he flew against their current. His engines roared against the current, and with a sigh, he tilted his nose towards the fields below.  
With the grinding and clicking of metal he transformed once again, landing in a running start. He might as well walk from here. He musn’t be far.  
He shook out his shoulders and groaned, the wings on his shoulders rattling. He turned his optics skyward - Muninn, circling overhead.  
He sighed. Shouldn’t be far now.  


So he started forward, slowly, carefully - pangs of guilt thundering through his spark with every step he took through the golden field of corn. He was ruining parts of someone’s harvest - there were thousands of stalks of corn reaching into the blissful blue sky. Blitzwing sighed.   
He couldn’t help but feel like shit about it. The one thing he hated the most about being a giant robot was destroying so much just with his movements.    
It also meant he was easy to spot and easy to target.    
He sighed, and almost stumbled directly into the crater when he came upon it - his optics having been locked on the sky above. Surprised noises sounded all around him as he scampered back a few steps and fixed his optics to the massive crater in front of him - big enough for him to sit in the middle. Shining blue energon matted against the rich dark earth, almost perfectly reflecting the hue of the vast skies above.    
There were humans surrounding the edge of the crater - anxiously looking between him and the crater.    
They were so small but their eyes pierced him like daggers. 

A cicada screamed somewhere in the distance. There was silence.  
Blitzwing felt like a deer in headlights. But probably not as much as these absolutely tiny humans did. One of them whispered something to the other - and they pulled out their phone.   
_Not good_ , Blizwing thought, _they’re going to call someone_.   
“The family tractor went missing the other night, y’know,” began an elderly man who wore dirtied overalls over a faded yellow shirt. His gray hair was tussled by the summer winds. “Old thing’s been left there since the 70s, old model, Farmall 806, diesel engine purred like a panther. One day it just shut down and it’s been rustin’ ever since then. Do you have anything to do with this?”  
Blitzwing shook his head in confusion. “You talking to me?”  
“Yes I am,” the old man continued, “Now - I bought that old thing in ‘65, and ever since then weird stuff was happenin’ around the property. We would eh - hear noises in the night, first my daughter thought it was a hauntin’ of sorts. But ever since you - eh, whatever you call yourselves-”  


“Cybertronians”.   
“Right. Ever since you people showed up, there was more weird stuff a’happenin’, especially around that tractor. After all these years I decided to find out what was happenin’ - and I swore I saw the damn thing standing in my backyard, pluckin’ apples outta the tree and handin’ em to my grand-daughter, who was leaning out her bedroom window. She was only four at the time - would talk about how a big monster would come to her room at night and give her apples. We just said it was her imagination, that she needs to stop sneakin’ out to the tree at night. But then I saw that thing - and I knew that my grand-daughter was tellin’ the truth. But I didn’t dare say nothin’ to the rest of the family”.   
Blitzwing shifted on his feet. Why was he telling him this?

“And I’m very worried about it - about him,” the old man continued, “Wherever he went, bring him home safe. He was the guardian of this house, y’know”.  
Blitzwing sighed. What should he tell him?  
...He was looking for Big Iron, too. He didn’t have the guts to tell the old man what happened in his family’s field the other night. That Big Iron might not be coming home.  
“I… I’ll try,” Blitzwing began. “But these are uncertain times. I’m searching for him myself, and if I see him again I will tell him you’re all looking for him”.  
The old man nodded. “...If it’s any lead, I saw a little red jet circling around here,” he began.  
Blitzwing’s spark sank. Firebird.  
“...Little thing looked lost, or perhaps like it was searchin’ for somethin’”.  
“Did she land anywhere near your house?” Blitzwing asked. His tone was serious - intense.   
“Yeah, why?”  


“You need to get out of here. _Now_. Don’t ask too many questions, but those who hunt our people are searching for me. If they find out you had even the smallest bit of contact with me, you won’t ever see light again”.  
The old man shifted. Anxiously, the family glanced between each other, taking in the bot’s grim tone, the weight of their newfound situation.   
“They won’t give you any leeway. They probably know I’m here already, know that I’m talking to you”.  
“...Now where should we go?” Asked a weathered man - probably in his twenties or thirties, he wore brown cowboy boots and dirtied jeans, and over it, a pale tasselled vest. A broad-brimmed, white cowboy hat concealed his eyes from the blazing summer sun.   


“There’s a place called Griffin Rock - it’s where we have a sanctuary for what is called the Red Legion. Those who are targets of Necrostar can find solace there. Pack your things, make it quick, leave and do not come back until I come for you. At the airport in the city - the Windsor Airport - you will find a lone jet that has sat alone and unused for years, and on his side is written ‘Cloudancer’. He is an airbus A380, not hard to miss. He will ask you three questions like a Sphynx. The first answer is ‘Wright’. The second is ‘Mankind’. The third is ‘An armchair’. Then he will allow you on board and carry you to safety”.  
Blitzwing paused.  
“If I could escort you, I would. They say that Cloudancer was a defunct airliner company - that is not true. It’s just what they tell you - a coverup. He is one of us - a Decepticon. You can trust him”.  
The family looked between each other with hesitation. “I-” Began the old man.  
“Go, there’s no time to waste. When you touch down in Griffin Rock there will be waiting for you a school-bus - she is called Textbook. She will take you to the Sanctuary”.  


Blitzwing waved the family off, and awkwardly, they stumbled away from him.   
Luckily they didn’t ask any questions.    
Part of Blitzwing wanted to wait till he saw the family load up their cars and drive off. So he knew for sure that they’d be safe on their way.   
And just pray that Necrostar didn’t follow them.

He sighed, blinking his optics shut.  
When he opened them, a long shadow was passing over him. It was winged - and Blitzwing shot his head up. The sun blinded his eyes for a moment - even the shadow of four huge feathered wings didn’t stop the light.  
The figure snapped their wings shut and landed right in front of Blitzwing, stretching his wings out.  


‘ _ Nice day for a flight, _ ’ he beeped. His radio crackled, presumably calibrating like how one would clear their throat.   
Standing in front of Blitzwing was a childhood best friend - and his previous partner. He was small, bright sunflower yellow against the sunlight, with black patterns racing along his body like stripes. He arched his wings over his shoulders as if casting shade over himself before spreading them either side of him, taking in the sunlight.   
His feathers were scalloped like a green parakeet’s - yellow, with little black bands on each individual feather, and on the tips was this symbol:

Fehu. Wealth. The summertime.   
Blitzwing sighed. “Bumblebee,” he began.   
Or rather - Arboreal Prime. Aestas Prime.  
“What are you doing here?” Blitzwing continued. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your father?”  
“Well,” crackled a voice from Bumblebee’s radio. “Snuck-- out from-- home,” hissed the samples on the radio. “I thought-- that I would-- try to find-- you”. Blitzwing smiled.  
“Well, the thought is nice,” he began after a long pause. “But there must be a reason, or else you would’ve come to me earlier, Bee. I know you. It’s not like you to be so… quiet”.  
Bumblebee shook his head. “Busy,” crackled his radio.   
Blitzwing chuckled. “Understandable. I assume you know about my situation?”  
Bumblebee nodded and shifted his feet - curling up his feet were the wiry stalks of beans, some of them already bearing fruit. He lift his foot, and the stalks curled away and fell into the dirt. ‘ _I want to help you,_ ’ Bumblebee beeped, ‘ _The best I can. Whether it be watching over you, or fighting for you. I take pity on you_ ’.  


Blitzwing sighed. “The help is appreciated, but not the pity. I don’t need pity, I need compassion and answers”.  
Bumblebee folded his four wings back against his shoulders, his door-wings folding over top of them like the elytra on a beetle. He nodded.   
“I don’t know what use you have now, though,” he began. He hesitated. “Hold on -- did you happen to see any rusted, fucked up tractors trundling along anywhere?”  
Bumblebee’s optics widened, and he nodded, the antenna-finials on his head shooting up.   
“Where is he?”  
Bumblebee spread his wings, and shot skyward with a loud “Stay here!” Blasting from his radio.   
Blitzwing sighed.   
After Bumblebee left, he realized that it was maybe a bit too hot for him. How could Bumblebee choose to be the god of the summer - objectively the worst season of the year - rather than a god of spring or fall?  
He hated the heat. It made his head hurt.  


After a few long minutes that felt like an hour, Bumblebee returned, and following behind him was an old, damaged tractor.  
On its side, the Autobot insignia, beside a wicked gash. Bumblebee was dragging the tractor behind him with a rope made of living ivy that wrapped around his wrist. He released the rope and buzzed quizzically. “Yes!” Blitzwing began, shooting to his feet and rushing to the tractor’s side.  
He shifted under Blitzwing’s hand as he reached a hand to trail alongside the gash. He hissed and shot a cloud of black smoke from his pipe.   
Blitzwing turned his attention to Bumblebee. “Go to your father, and summon Swindle and Lugnut. Tell them to meet me near the Saint Joseph’s Church, beside the Saint Joseph’s Elementary School. That is where we will rendezvous, and hope that Phoenix is far behind us”.  


Bumblebee nodded and spread his wings, leaping off the ground with a gust of hot wind that smelled of strawberries. He soared skyward until he was a speck lost against the blaze of the sun.  
He turned his attention to Big Iron. “Can you transform?” he asked.  
The tractor shifted under his hand, and with a yowl of pain, changed shape.  
Big Iron was a mess. And that was an understatement. His face was marred with scratches and small cuts, and his entire side was gaping open, exposing his tank inside. “Don’t force yourself if you can’t. She really got to you, didn’t she?” Blitzwing asked.  
Big Iron nodded, panting heavily. “Y-eah,” he choked.  
“No, no. Rest. I wanted to thank you for putting your life on the line like that. You probably don’t even know who you were up against”.  


Big Iron groaned. “Someone-- was’a’threatenin’-- the kind folks that lived here--”  
“Save your breath,” Blitzwing began, “Big Iron, you said your name was?”  
The other nodded.  
“That was Firebird - well, they call her Phoenix now. She’s…” Blitzwing hesitated and swallowed the lump that was building in his throat. “Is she alive?”  
He felt like he was going to cry, or heave, or both.   
Big Iron nodded. “Unfortunately, yes”.  
“Well… She’s Necrostar’s greatest weapon-”  
“Whussat?”  
“Long story. She was stolen from her father sixteen years ago and raised to be a superweapon for them to use. She’s hunting me, she wants me dead. I’m surprised you survived her - there’d been rumors for long now about one who tore apart anyone in her way. Your recklessness could’ve cost you your life, you know,” Blitzwing began. “Now. Why does she want me dead?”  


Blitzwing paused. Did he tell him?   
Did he dare?   
“She’s…” He paused again. No, he shouldn’t    
But the truth couldn’t stay hidden forever. “She’s my daughter”.


	7. Na Na Na

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon arriving to the rendezvous point, Blitzwing meets with Swindle, Bumblebee and surprisingly, the twins Rosemary and Bayleaf - and once more Phoenix is on his tail, but this time he isn't alone - and nor is she. If Blitzwing is going to save Phoenix from the claws of Necrostar, he's going to need all the help he can get - even help found in unexpected places.

_"hey, young blood,_   
_doesn't it feel like our time is running out?_   
_i'm going to change you_   
_like a remix_   
_then i'll raise you_   
_like a phoenix"_

_~ fall out boy, 'the phoenix' ~_

The sunrise was hot and blazing.   
Blitzwing perched on the roof of the church, peering over the triangular roof and trying his hardest to keep himself cool.    
The building was red, with a large circular window mounted above an elegantly arched door.    
Beside the church was a garden, and beside that garden was the pale, washed yellow bricks of the elementary school. Behind the church was a parking lot and an old graveyard, and beside that graveyard a small park. The church was scenic - beautiful, even, in the blazing orange sunrise. It was summertime - the students were home, because if they weren’t, he would have to do a lot of explaining to the school and its children why he was perched on the roof of their church.   
And should Phoenix appear, there would be casualties Blitzwing did not want to endure.   
Especially considering how the kindergarten wing was closest to the church and the surrounding parking lot. Little humans would gawk at him rather than flee to safety with their class, perhaps unaware that the giant robot staring back at them could flatten them easily.   


It was a risk he refused to take.  
He yawned. Big Iron was slumped against the wall of the church, beside one of the side-entrances, his side wrapped haphazardly in scrap fabric that Blitzwing scavenged. He had to get Big Iron to Ratchet as soon as he possibly can.  
He watched the sky as a distant engine rumbled closer and closer - a dark black speck, growing larger, the sun catching on the dark metal and making it blaze dark, rich royal purple.  
Lugnut.  
Blitzwing stood, digging his feet into the roof of the church as the other neared, transforming and landing on the side of the church hard.  
It shook as Lugnut landed, and as he scrambled to gain his footing, shingles rained onto the pavement below. “Lugnut!” Blitzwing snapped. “Do you want to destroy the church?”  
“...What should I care what happens to some human building?” Lugnut grumbled. Looks like someone got off on the wrong wing.  


“The church is beautiful, aesthetically! And it’s important to the people of this town and one of the human religions. How would you feel if a bunch of humans came by and looted one of our temples?”  
“...You know they would if given the chance”.  
“...Point goes over your head. At least be a bit more considerate, Lugnut. It takes a while for ‘em to build something like this”.  
Lugnut grumbled and flopped his chin onto one of the flat towers on the corner of the church - once home to twin belfries, which have been removed because they were damaged, and hadn’t been replaced as they were too difficult to maintain.  


He and Lugnut could perch on these flat towers like weird, living metal gargoyles. Lugnut kept the two optics on the side of his head fixated on the road below, while the other two on the opposite sider were fixated on Blitzwing and the optic on the front of his face was watching the ground below. Watching, perhaps, for Swindle.   
Blitzwing sighed. Swindle had kids. It was okay if he couldn’t show.  
Bumblebee glided over next, perching on the roof and folding his bright golden wings against his shoulders. He said nothing.   
Lugnut grumbled again, something under his breath, something about Autobots.   
Bumblebee playfully nudged Lugnut’s head with his foot.  
‘ _He’s on his way,_ ’ beeped Bumblebee.   


A long silence fell. A few minutes that felt like a century, then Lugnut’s head popped up.   
Driving over the little bridge that spanned the Canard River was a big, bulky SUV with a hull as rich golden as a faded old coin. His windows were tinted a rich purple, almost as dark as Lugnut’s hull, and following behind him was a small rich green colored motorcycle, with leaf-patterned accents along her sides and wheel-wells.   
Following behind the other was a hot rod, with metal as black as night with flecks of gold and silver speckling over sharp red patterns that swirled along her doors. Over her grill was a cow-pusher lined in sharp, barblike spikes - which was painted with red splatters like permanent blood.   
Blitzwing huffed.    


The twins, Rosemary and Bayleaf. Rosemary was the hot rod, while Bayleaf was the motorcycle. “No, fuck no,” Blitzwing muttered, “Bringing the twins here was a bad idea-”   
They watched as the trio slowed, Swindle transformed, as did Rosemary and Bayleaf.   
The resemblance Rosemary bore to Lockdown was almost eerie. Her face was patterned like corpse-paint, and her optics were rich, blood red, which contrasted her sister - whose optics were pale violet, against a green hull patterned with leaves.   
Swindle called up to the two, and paced over to the front of the church - the two twins following him, and clambering after their father.   
Swindle had made the decision to climb over the front of the church, punting his foot directly through the large, elegant, circular window above the door.

“PRIMES DAMN IT, SWINDLE!” Lugnut bellowed as shards of colored glass rained into the church and onto the porch below. “CAN’T YOU BE MORE CAREFUL WITH YOURSELF?”  
He heaved himself onto the roof, shoving himself between Lugnut and Bumblebee, who ruffled his wings in silent irritation.  
Rosemary and Bayleaf shoved themselves after their father, and perched beside him on the roof. “So,” Swindle began. “What’s up?”  
Blitzwing pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s too dangerous for the twins, Swindle”.  
“Trust me, I doubt anything will happen-”  
“Swindle,” Blitzwing began sharply, glaring at the other. Bumblebee shifted his wings uncomfortably upon his shoulders. Lugnut rest his chin back on the tower with a huff. “It would kill me inside if anything happened to them--”  


He looked up.  
He never should’ve looked up.   
A small, red-and-orange jet was circling nearby, followed by another, then another - three jets. Metallica, Phoenix, and another Blitzwing assumed to be Savage Garden based on her coloration.   
The rumble of an engine echoed up the walls of the church - an engine belonging to a jet-black T-28 tank. Iron Maiden.  
Black Sabbath followed next, in the form of an M-93 Fox.  
Then came Rusted Root, in the form of a Volkswagen Samba.  
Rolling Stone followed - a Knight XV.  
A very out-of-place Ford Model T - presumably Led Zeppelin.  
Finally, Dire Straits in the form of a Dodge Challenger R/T.   


They were outnumbered. Three (excluding Big Iron and the twins) against nine. Savage Garden, Phoenix and Metallica all landed, changing shape alongside their friends. Phoenix, however, struggled to remain on her feet - her leg was wrapped in a makeshift splint, and small plates covered what Blitzwing assumed were massive, gaping wounds.  
His spark panged.   
He never knew her, but he felt her pain as if it was his own.   
They were surrounded and outnumbered.   
Bumblebee mustered a throaty growl and shook his wings to his sides. Lugnut snarled, no differently than a beast would, and pulled himself to his feet. Swindle huffed.  
All three of them squared their shoulders and tensed themselves. Waiting for the other to make a move.  


Rather, Phoenix limped forward. “I give you one chance, _ergi_ ,” she barked. “Surrender your necks to Necrostar. Forfeit. We have you out-numbered, three to nine. You dare make a move and we will tear you to shreds and leave you to rust right where you stand”.  
Silence.   
“But if you go quietly, we will make your deaths swift and painless. Except you,” Piercing gold optics locked on Blitzwing. “I am going to make you suffer”.  
“How did you track us so quickly?” Lugnut asked. He looked frozen, as if he was staring at a ghost. He almost couldn’t believe his optics.  
She snorted. “Please, you Decepticons or Autobots or whatever are like big red targets on our radars. And-” She paused, “I would know the scent of a deadbeat anywhere”.  
The insults stung Blitzwing as if Bumblebee had stabbed him in the neck with his stingers.   
He would much rather have that pain than see his little girl suffer the way she was under Necrostar. “I did not abandon you,” Blitzwing began, “You were stolen from me. Necrostar robbed me of you, robbed you of a childhood, robbed you of happiness. I don’t know what it would take to convince you that I love you, that I want you to come home. But I will do anything for you as long as you’re safe”.  


“I don’t need your sob-stories, and your fucking lies,  _ malaka _ !”   
Blitzwing huffed. Lugnut made the risk of turning his head to Blitzwing. “I--”   
“Not now, Lugnut,” Blitzwing muttered.   
“Should we jump on her?” Swindle asked. Blitzwing growled at him, and he silenced himself and his optics fell to the roof as if it was the most interesting thing since sliced bread.   
“I don’t need your manipulation! You fucking abandoned me, left me to rot, left me to die, and The Pommel saved my FUCKING LIFE!” She snarled, “HE SAVED ALL OF US!”   
At this, Phoenix turned on her heel and threw her arms towards her companions, who cheered in response.    
“NECROSTAR, THE GREAT SAVIOR! THAT OF WHICH SHINES THROUGH THE DARKNESS!” Phoenix howled, to the rousing cheers of her companions.    
The sound was almost deafening before falling into silence again. Phoenix was their conductor, they were her orchestra.   
“What Blitzwing says is true,” Lugnut growled in that rough voice of his. 

Phoenix turned on her heel.   
“Every single day, for the last sixteen years, without fail, he would appear at my doorstep telling me that once more, he could not sleep without thoughts of you. Worrying about you. Grieving you even though you had never died. I tried to tell him that his hope that you were still alive was fruitless. To give up. How wrong I was, and how lucky I am he’s so stubborn. I cannot even believe that you still live myself. And if you won’t take it from him, take it from me, who has watched him mourn you for sixteen long years”.  
A long silence. For a moment, Phoenix’s optics fell to the ground, as if she was thinking. Wondering.  
Maybe finally listening. Instead, a growl battled up her throat - her lips curled. “Liar,” she growled. “LIAR!” She cried, this time louder.   


And all at once everyone moved. Phoenix threw herself at Blitzwing, throwing herself at the roof of the church and tackling Blitzwing to the roof. They rolled off its slanted sides, and fell to the parking lot below with a bang.  
The other two - and, surprisingly, Swindle with his daughters - engaged the other eight.   
It was hopeless. Blitzwing would have to call for backup, which can lead to these poor kids being killed.  
He grappled with Phoenix. “Please, I don’t want to fight you!” He hissed.  
Phoenix snarled as Blitzwing rolled on top of her - she kicked him off with one fell swoop.  
“I will not rest until I see the light leave your optics, and your soul is fed to the vilest beast in the depths of Hel, you have my word-” She cried, throwing herself towards him.  


Blitzwing rolled out of the way and swooped behind her - reaching for the back of her neck.   
All Cybertronians had a thin layer of rubber that wrapped around their necks, that, when pinched hard enough, can induce a limp effect, similar to that of a cat grabbing her kitten’s scruff.  
Maybe if Blitzwing managed to grab the layer of rubber and squeeze as hard as he possibly could, Phoenix would go limp, and perhaps he could tie her up and bring her to the Nemesis and imprison her on board.  
But how long would that last?  
She was too swift - spinning on her heel and grabbing Blitwing’s wrist in her hand, and in her other, she held her blade.  
A brilliantly crafted blade, with an edge that shone like a golden sunrise. Its razor edge sparkled viciously.  


She was staring at him - golden optics locked with his. And behind those optics - behind that malevolent, violent gaze was… remorse. Pain. A deep-buried urge to escape her prison.  
Blitzwing screamed out as she twisted his arm, boneframe cracking in her hand and metal denting and warping and energon reserves splitting.  
She released his wrist and let it fall limp to his side - it was broken, maybe more than broken, tilted upwards at a gut-wrenching angle. She shoved him to the ground. “Firebird, please,” Blitzwing begged, raising his free hand to cover his new wounds. “It doesn’t have to end like this”.  
“Yes it does!”  
“I see it in your optics, Firebird. You want to come home. I see that behind your confident, strong exterior there is pain. There is suffering. You have lacked love your entire life, love that Necrostar denied you. They taught you lies, and made you suffer, and they convinced you to hate me. And you have Lugnut backing me up - he knows the truth probably better than I do. Come home to me. Let me save you. We can - we can be a family again”.  


Phoenix scoffed and turned her head away.  
But behind those golden optics, pain took control. Tears welled in her optics for a moment, and she raised her blade over her head.  
Blitzwing winced away, raising both his wounded hand and his undamaged hand over his face.  
He squeezed his optics shut as Phoenix swung down her blade - but the impact never came. Blitzwing risked opening his optics - the blade of Phoenix’s sword was embedded in the fine brick walls of the church, almost to its hilt. “Go,” She growled. “Before I change my mind. You and your boys better be cleared out of here by the time I circle back over or you’ll be dead”.  
Blitzwing rose to his feet as Phoenix raised her fingers to her lips, whistled sharply, transformed and flew off.   


Following after her was Metallica, who was missing several plates off of his cockpit.  
Then, driving past next was Black Sabbath, several layers of steel armor stripped off and two wheels were burst. He was dragging Rusted Root behind him, who was followed by Iron Maiden and Rolling Stone. Dire Straits was pulling Led Zeppelin behind her, whose entire roof was missing.  
Surely the work of Lugnut. And that worried Blitzwing.   
Savage Garden did not rise to the skies. Was she…?  
Blitzwing shifted to his feet weakly. He grabbed the hilt of Phoenix’s sword and with a wretch, pulled it from its imprisonment in the wall.   
He dragged it behind him as he rounded the corner, the edge of the blade scraping horribly and making sparks fly.  


Big Iron had shuffled to sit between Lugnut and Swindle, who had Rosemary leaning against his side, and her sister, wounded, in her lap. Blitzwing dragged himself over.  
The pain in his shattered hand, his fractured wrist was overwhelming. It made his head spin and he had almost fainted from the pain and the morning heat on top of that.  
The group was sitting around something - something that was moving. As Blitzwing neared, he could hear them speaking as Swindle wrapped up Bayleaf’s wounds. Rosemary and Lugnut were already patched up, as was Swindle - and by the looks of it, Swindle even tried to help Big Iron. He shuffled over and flopped beside Lugnut, squeezing his optics shut and releasing Phoenix’s sword. It clattered to the asphalt.  


He chanced opening his optics - and laying in a bleeding heap in front of them was Savage Garden. “We live in a hellscape,” she was muttering, “They torture us, every day. Treat us like we’re just mindless machines built to do the biddings of higher entities. I--” She coughed up a mouthful of energon. “--I want out. I know that deep down, all of us want out, too. I’ve seen in the backs of their optics that there is something more they long for. Maybe it was love that Necrostar never gave. Maybe it was freedom, maybe it was for the tortures to stop. I - and I betcha the others - are just looking for a way to escape. You might be that escape”.   
She wheezed, and Blitzwing reached a hand towards her - his good hand - and rest it gently on the other’s scratched, beaten forehead. “Child,” he began. “What I say is true. I have mourned not only who you call Phoenix, but I have sat beside families who grieved and mourned their own stolen children. Families who were murdered by their own child because of this Operation Typhon. And I, we, want to help you. We want to help save you”.  


“...Metallica was the only one who succeeded in killing his parents. I. I refuse to. The others have called me soft, bullied me-- but I know they’d say the same,” she sobbed against Blitzwing’s hand. He shifted closer to her, and she moved to rest in his lap.  
Blitzwing sighed. She must’ve never been loved before, and that broke Blitzwing more than Firebird’s situation. “We’ll - it’ll take a long time. But we will get you and the others out of there, okay? I promise you”.  
Savage Garden sobbed.   
“I promise you, I won’t fail any of you, I would die before I let that happen. For now, though, you have to go home”.  
“...I’ll start talking to Phoenix about you,” Savage Garden began, “I’ll be able to get through to her, she trusts me and she loves me to death”.  


Blitzwing smiled, a soft, subtle smile. “But be careful. I can’t imagine how she is behind closed doors. Are you able to transform, Savage Garden?”  
“How do you know my name--”  
“Remember Baer? The man that Metallica brought in, claiming he was a transfer agent? That was me, my holoform. I was trying to find information about someone called The Pommel. The man who snatched Fireb- Phoenix, away from me”.   
Savage Garden cocked her brow. “Curious, you Cybertronians are,” she began.   
“We have our fair share of tricks, as do you, even if you don’t know it yet. How can we help you now? Can you transform?”  
“Y-yes,” Savage Garden began, “But one of my ailerons is damaged, I think. I don’t think I’ll be able to fly stably. I’ll have to walk”.  


Blitzwing sighed. “Why did they leave you?”  
“They thought I was dead, I’d assume. With how this big one here did a number on me,” She jerked her head in the direction of Lugnut.   
Lugnut tossed his head and chuckled. “Well then,” Blitzwing began. “You know what you have to do. You have to return home. Try to convince Phoenix and the others to turn on Necrostar from the inside. But tread carefully”.  
Savage Garden sat up and shook her head, groaning. She forced a smile and nodded, rising to her feet. “I want to be free. I know we all do. Thank you, for believing in us. I’ll try to get through to Phoenix. But go, now”.  


Lugnut stood, alongside Swindle and his twins, and Blitzwing and Big Iron. Blitzwing tilted his head skyward - Phoenix was swooping back around, on her own. Bumblebee was circling high above the clouds, presumably keeping watch, or hopefully heading home to notify the medics that they will need assistance.   
Blitzwing sighed. Should he take her sword?   
There was something about it - it hummed with an energy like none other, and carved along it was the image of a twisting dragon whose jaws clasped around the hilt.   
Blitzwing found himself reaching down and grabbing it. It hummed and tingled in his hand.   
“Come on, Blitzwing, it’s just a sword,” Swindle began. “Leave it”.   
“No, there’s… something about this sword. I’m going to take it to Requiem to investigate it. Meet me at Swerve’s on the Lost Light. Then we can talk”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I feel like here, you can really see who Phoenix was inspired by. Any guesses?


	8. Spellbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blitzwing now carries with him a golden sword that disturbs anyone who looks at it. He is summoned to a meeting with Starscream and a mysterious, prophecy-weaving client. There, he learns of his destiny, and that he and Phoenix's circumstances are less circumstantial than they appear...

_"of old was the age,_  
_when ymir lived,_  
_sea nor cool waves,_  
_nor sand there were,_  
_earth had not yet been,_  
_nor heaven above,_  
_but a yawning gap,_  
_and grass nowhere"_  
_~ voluspa verse 3 ~_

Swerve’s was weirdly empty that evening. Usually, it was packed with people drinking and eating and having a grand old time. Even Swerve himself was absent, the young, stout bot having vanished into the back room upon seeing Blitzwing with the sword in his arms, wrapped in a tattered tarp he must’ve stolen from someone’s house. He rushed about it, too, bowing his head to the Elite and rushing into the back room, abandoning a half-cleaned horn tankard on the bar.   
Blitzwing sighed. Was it the sword, or the white raven that was perched on the barrel of one of his guns? The fact that he was marked by a god of death.   
He shuffled to a table in the farthest corner, setting the sword down on the table and shifting into the booth.   
Swerve suddenly emerged from the back room, rushing over. “Is there--” He forced. “Anything I can get for you?”   


“...After everything, I need a nice big mug of mead, and I don’t even like mead. Except the stuff Megatron keeps in his private brew. That stuff’s good”.  
Swerve nodded. His rich blue optics refused to meet Blitzwing’s - though it was hard to tell through his tinted visor. His hull was mostly white - with pale orange arms with large black wheels on his shoulders, which matched his ankles. His head was sheltered by a white flap, and with the bulk of his shoulders, it gave the illusion that the small bot had no neck.  
It was strange of the other to act so… distant. So scared. “O-on my way,” and he turned on his heel.  


“Wait,” Blitzwing snapped, cocking his brow. Swerve froze in his tracks. “Are you well? You’ve been acting strange since I entered with this tarp. It’s not like you to seem so distant”.   
Swerve raised his visor, possibly just to emphasise that he was in fact staring at the sword on the table. In his optics was worry - a sparkling light, that he did not like that sword in his bar but had no say in it.   
He bit his lip, turned, and left. Weird.   
Everyone had been averted to him the moment he stepped on board the Lost Light with the tarp-wrapped sword in his arms. It even felt wrong to hold it - like the sword was calling out to its rightful holder, and Blitzwing wasn’t it. The blade resisted him - and if he held it too long it burned in his hands. 

It felt unbalanced in his hands - the handle was too big, and the pommel felt as if it outweighed the blade itself. It was like he had to hold it with both hands just to have control of it - and it wasn’t even a two-handed weapon.  
Swerve shuffled over as Blitzwing slid the tarp back into his arms and laid it across his lap. Swerve set on the table in front of him a tankard of mead, carved from bone and ornamented with silver bands. He nodded to Swerve, who forced a smile and wandered off to the back room again.  
“Blitzwing!” Called a voice from the door. Lugnut.  
The larger bot paced over and tossed himself into the booth beside Blitzwing, scooting around so that he was beside him. He nuzzled the top of Blitzwing’s head in a silent greeting.  


“Hey!” Blitzwing began softly, raising the tankard to his lips and taking a sip. “Any updates? You run past Megatron?”   
“I-- well, he said that after our discussion, Starscream wishes to speak with you”.   
Blitzwing shuddered. The tone of the room suddenly turned serious. Maybe a bit too serious. He set his tankard down, and carefully set the tarp on the table, unfolding it slowly, exposing the golden blade to the half-light. It shone brightly, as though it was producing its own light.

“Is it about the sword?”  
“More than about the sword. He has a client with him he wants you to dialog with. I don’t know any details and he refused to tell me any more than what I’m relaying to you now. Swindle is taking care of the twins, and paying a visit to Big Iron so he couldn’t attend. He seemed ruffled about this sword”.  
“Everyone has been. But why?”  
“I asked Megs about it,” Lugnut paused and sighed. “He said that there is only one sword that matches this description. A legendary artefact that they’d been trying to recover for a while. Not Sumarbrandr, because that’s in Bumblebee’s possession. Not the Harpe of Perseus, because that was lost in Atlantis. There is only one other sword though, which wore on it the curse of a great dragon. He suggested you either bring the blade to Starscream and his client, or hope you run into Daytrader on the road, depends on how quick you want answers”.  


Blitzwing sighed. A long, deafening silence only broken by the distant sound of running water in the back room, and even that shut off abruptly. Blitzwing took another swig from his tankard, but did not set it down. He only stared at the blade, reaching forward to wrap it back in its tarp.  
He didn’t say anything else. Nor did Lugnut. There was only a deafening silence between them - and that silence spoke more than a trillion words would. 

Starscream had numerous Wells littered around the three ships filled to the brim with water harvested from his _original_ Well at home, Mimisbrunnr. One of Yggdrasill’s roots curled through the sacred Well - and it was said that its waters had magical properties, but one is only allowed to drink from it if they sacrifice something of equal value to what they want to gain from the Well.  
The Wells that Starscream - or rather, Mimis Prime - hung around in were all said to be magically connected - just say the name before the Well, and he would appear from its glowing, magical depths as if teleporting. The Wells themselves were grand basins, the edges studded in precious gems and the bellies carved with elegant patterns of the Tree Yggdrasill.  


They would be curtained by silken covers, also threaded finely by hand with patterns depicting old folk tales. They were some of the most holy places between all three ships. The Nemesis, belonging to the Decepticons. The Biscuitteer belonging to the Autobots. The Lost Light, which belonged to all.  
One of these Wells, though, was located in the apartment belonging to Solarflare - an Einherji who refused to remain in Valhalla with his brothers-in-arms. Why did Starscream request a Well be built there? Why did Solarflare refuse to leave? It was beyond Blitzwing, and he didn’t care much anyways.  
Though he did feel that it was in some way connected to the young Elite - Ravenwing, who, rumor has it, is Megatron’s sole grandchild.  


Whatever he was, the poor kid was too hyperactive for his own good and often spent time hovering around one of Starscream’s Wells or around Solarflare.  
Blitzwing shifted uneasily on his feet. The room was dark, only lit feebly by the glimmering-glow of the Well-basin against the wall. This time, it was one of his more grand wells, a huge fountain in an entire room solely for the young Prime.  
There was a carpet leading from the door to the dias the basin was on, and behind it, a massive statue of Yggdrasill with silk drapes hanging from its branches and arching across the ceiling.  


The walls were painted in elegant mosaics, and studded with glowing crystals that pulsated with rich light, however did not penetrate the constricting darkness of the hall.   
Small mats were in rows along the floor - presumably, for visitors to the Well to sit and wait. One of these mats was occupied by a figure wearing a heavy black cloak, with a hood concealing his head and on the back, the mark of an eye.   
The symbol of the Occulus Occult.   
Blitzwing shuddered at the sight of the hand-sewn eye staring back at him. Maybe this was the client. 

Blitzwing shuffled to the end of the row - sitting on the mat to the right of the figure. Whoever they were, he did not want to be near them. The Occulus was powerful and unpredictable.   
Some say that in the years leading up to the Civil War, the Occulus Occult was founded by Megatron. Some have tried to ask him about it, but he just waved them off and even ignored them. But this brought more questions than answers. The hooded figure turned its head slowly.   
And he spoke.   
“You. You arrive. You carry with you the Sword of Sigurdr?”   
Blitzwing had almost forgotten the sword was in his arms. If it wasn’t for the weight against his chest, the sword wouldn’t even exist. “Y-yes,” he squeaked. “I mean, I have a sword. Not too sure about the Sword of Sigurdr though”.   
The figure turned his head back to the Well. The gentle sound of running water echoed through the chamber, and it would’ve been peaceful if it wasn’t for the creepy vibes.   
Why Starscream wanted it so dark was beyond Blitzwing. 

“Approach,” Spoke a voice somewhere behind the curtains. “Blitzwing the Spirit-Bird, the Chanting-Raven of The Mountain”.  
Blitzwing set the sword on the floor in front of him and rose, pacing towards the curtains. His spark thrummed in his chest, his vents rattled anxiously, and his silicone-padded palms were damn with precipitation. The hall was heavy with power.  
He reached a shaking hand forward and, squeezing his optics shut, parted the curtain and stepped inside, letting it fall shut behind him.  
Slowly, he opened his optics to find himself standing in front of the Well, which had artificial waterfalls trickling into it. Perched atop false rocks, between the twin waterfalls, was a headless body.  


It was sitting cross-legged, with its left hand (the body’s right) raised, with two fingers held together. The opposite hand was lowered, with the same two-fingers-together hand-gesture. As above, so below.   
The body was that of a seeker’s - but where there were supposed to be wings on its back there were none. They were torn off eons ago by the one named Cherrybomb. In place of them, though, were four feathered wings of the finest gray, with red tips as if they had been airbrushed, and upon them was this symbol:

Eihwaz. The Yew-Tree. Yggdrasill. The timeless; death. The upper and lower worlds - as above so below. The growth of the spirit.  
The body’s neck was only a stump, exposing the spine-frame and throat, the metal that once connected the neck to a head dented outwards, the sharp edges gleaming.  
Mimis Prime. Starscream. His body looked more like a statue than anything, with gray metal gleaming with old scars and details of red. Blitzwing had nothing to say.  
He dare not peer over the Well. He knew what was down there. This boy’s murder was responsible for the Cybertronian War, when Autobot and Decepticon alike united against the Purity. He was only twenty years old when he was slain.  


“Approach the Well, and gaze into its depths”.   
Blitwing did as the voice commanded, gazing into the clear, glowing depths of the Well. In the bottom of the rippling water was a head.   
His optics were closed, as if in a pensive, restful sleep. A singular red horn rose from his forehead, a scar running through it.    
The head opened his optics, which were as black as the night sky, with flecks in them like stars and hues of unimaginable colors swirling among them like twin nebulae. The head slowly rose to the surface of the water, before breaking the surface.    
His body leaned forward, and picked up his head, cradling it in his arms. 

The head opened its mouth, and a seemingly endless stream of Well-water began to flow from it. “You,” the head spoke among the water flowing from his open mouth. He was speaking with perfect coherence, as if the Well-water wasn’t even there. Perhaps it was magic, or an illusion. “You have with you a sword, yes?”  
“Yes, Lord,” Blitzwing responded, bowing his head. He tensed to try to stop his hands from shaking.  
Gods, he was nervous interacting with Primes other than Requiem Prime, Optimus Prime and Arboreal Prime. Probably because he knew Megatron well, and trusted him. He never knew Starscream well before… the incident that led to his beheading. He only heard of the Prince in passing.  


“The Sword is known as Gram,” Starscream began, “It is a legendary sword once held by the hero Sigurdr, now held by your daughter, Phoenix. Under my council I have allowed Chase the Prophecy-Woven to speak on my behalf, the brother of Barricade the Middle and Prowl the Elder”.   
The curtain beside Blitzwing whisked open - the cloaked figure paced in, and held in his hand the golden sword - Gram.    
“Those who see this blade fear it,” Starscream continued. “It is tainted with the blood of the wyrm Fafnir, who was once a Dwarf that turned into a beast as a result from the Curse of Andvari’s Gold. That is why those are fearful of the one who wields it. Though it is not yours to hold”.   
Hm. That explains why it resisted him. 

Chase pulled back his hood - Blitzwing knew of him, the brother of Barricade, who was an elite at Megatron’s longtable. His face was detailed in neon lights, his blue optics sparkling brightly against a blue helm resembling a hat, patterned in some kind of layering pattern, like those vapourwave sunsets. His gaze was intense despite the bright neon patterns of his metal.  
Starscream fell silent. “Speak,” he muttered to Chase.  
The other bowed his head. “Y-you’re with the Rescue Bots-” Blitzwing began.  
Chase cocked his brow and smirked. “Yes, but we’re not here to catch up about them just yet. Perhaps afterwards I can invite you for some tea and we can talk”. Chase was one of the only people outside his already-existing friend group to actually respect him.  
Both were stigmatized. Blitzwing, because of his whole multiple personality deal, and Chase because of a story involving attempting to murder his brothers for the family wealth.  


It took a lot of time to prove Chase was redeemable. In the end, though, it worked, and Blitzwing considered Chase a dear friend.   
Starscream made a soft noise similar to one clearing their throat. Chase nodded in his direction, and began to speak.

_ “Spirit-Bird, He-Who-Is-Marked-By-The-Lord-Of-The-Gallows,   
Muninn, Memory-Bird,   
He-Of-Three-Faces, He-Who-Judges-The-Dead,   
The Father of Rebirth-Bird,    
You who carry with him the Sword of The Twelve Berserkir,   
Destined to do battle with Dragon-Sword.   
  
You-Who-Bleeds, Father of Ice Waves,   
Fjorm, Fimbulthul, Svol,   
The Incarnate of Memory-Raven,   
Slidr, Ylgr, Slygr,   
Gifted Foresight by White Raven,   
Hryd, Vid, Gunthra,   
Whose Fate is bound to the Roots of Yggdrasill,   
Gjoll, Leiptr, Elivagar,   
He who Chants,   
He who Thunders,   
He who Laughs”. _

Chase paused. “These are two verses from a longer prophecy shared among we the Volva, the holders and weavers of prophecy. It tells of a man - someone chosen by who we now know as Requiem Prime, called most commonly by his mortal name of Megatron. It mentions the ‘Father of Rebirth-Bird’ - Phoenix. Dragon-Sword is Gram, who I hold here--” To emphasise this, Chase held up the golden blade.  
He paused.  
“We know you as that man, chosen to carry Munnin, the Memory-Bird. In time you will come to possess the Sword of Twelve Berserkir and you will battle your daughter. That is your destiny. Both of yours, woven by the Nornir”.  


Blitzwing turned his optics to the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the universe.  
“The rest? We have no idea, just that it mentions the eleven Ice-Waves that flow below Yggdrasill. I’d stay most concerned with the fact that you’re destined to fight your daughter”.  
Blitzwing bit his lip. “Do I… have to kill her?”  
“Uncertain of that one,” Chase responded. “Doesn’t say. Just that Gram and Sko-- the Sword of Twelve Berserkir, are destined to cross blades, and your daughter happens to be Gram’s rightful owner. Fate is inevitable, it doesn’t come when you are ready for it. But when you are ready for the Sword, return here and take it. As for Gram, return to the place where you crashed after she attacked you and leave it there in the dirt so she can find it”.  


Blitzwing sighed. His thoughts swirled.  
Destined to battle his daughter. But not to kill her, he assumed. He hoped.  
“...How do you know all this?”  
“All of what?” Chase asked.  
“The whole deal with, eh, being attacked, spiralling from the sky, coming back with a mean concussion, you know. Details that I don’t think anyone’s told you of”.  
“A little gift I like to call Foresight,” Chase offered a playful smile and a wink. “We Volva know more than we’d care to let on”.  


“Chase,” Starscream growled. “You are dismissed”.   
Chase whispered something under his breath, cast his cloak over his head, and turned. “I’ll see you soon,” Chase said to Blitzwing, less like a hope and more of a state of fact. Chase was going to see him later, most certainly. Damn Prophets. Always unsettled Blitzwing with how much they knew and how confident they were when they spoke. Chase pushed through the curtains, and they closed behind him as if he was never there in the first place.   
The door did not open. Blitzwing assumed he had sat back on his mat with Gram in front of him.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know, Spirit-Bird?” Starscream asked Blitzwing.  
“No- well. I want to know if I have to kill Firebird, and what’s going to happen to her and the other children. I want to know what that second verse about the Eleven Rivers meant”.  
Starscream smirked. “Some things are not yet prophesied, not yet woven by the Nornir. Some fates are not yours to read. Some things are beyond your control”.  
“What if I were to try to alter my destiny? What if I were to try to pull at the strings of fate?”  
Starscream chuckled. “Testing the waters, are you? We are all bound by fate. The smallest of ants is bound by fate. The largest beast is bound by fate. Even the gods are bound by fate. Even the Volva are bound by fate. Fate is why I appear before you the way I do now. To tug at the strings of fate is not only impossible, but will lead to incomprehensible consequences even the Volva, myself, or my father the Prophet-Lord, Requiem Prime, cannot foresee”.  


Blitzwing nodded.  
“Try as you might to divert your fate, either it will disturb the Nornir’s weaving and cause said consequences, or the steps you take to avoid your fate will lead you right back to the prophesied outcome. Think of it like a maze with multiple ways to go through it - you can be told to go down one path, then go down another out of spite or out of curiosity, in hopes that you will find a different way out of the maze other than the one laid out before you. Either the twisting corridors of the maze will divert you right back on to the original track, or will take you back to the only exit that you tried to avoid”.  
Blitzwing remained silent.  


“...In other words, in some cases, the harder you try to avoid your fate, either the faster it will come to you or it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. In more simple terms, don’t even think about trying it. You will fail and fate will give you a stern kick in the ass”.  
Blitzwing nodded slowly. “So fate is unshakable?”  
“Fate is unshakable”. A pause. “...You look thirsty,” Starscream began. “Care for a drink from my Well?”  
“...I’m not paying your price, Starscream. You made your father give up his optic”.  
Starscream chuckled. “...Deception isn’t my thing,” he began. “If I offered you a free mouthful from the Well, I would not be joking with you. It will give to you answers to the burning question within. Maybe even answers that you do not know the question for yet”.  


“But the Well-water is precious, that is why you charge for it”.  
“I can’t force you. But if you choose to, do so before you leave, and take only a mouthful. One good swallow. In the meantime, I’m going back to sleep. If you see Solarflare, tell him I love him, and that goes double if you see Ravenwing. Better yet, tell ‘em to visit”.  
Blitzwing smirked. “Will do. But I do want to know their relations to you”.  
“Hm, I thought I told you already,” Starscream began, “Solarflare was my fiance, and Ravenwing is my son. There. Answer that question for you?”  
Blitzwing furrowed his brow. “Nobody else seems to know. It’s only rumor that Ravenwing is Megatron’s grandson. Never knew it was through you”.  


Starscream snorted. “Well, if they want to talk about it, they can. But please tell them to get me”.  
Blitzwing nodded again to the Prince. He watched as Starscream’s body leaned forward and set his head back in the water.  
It bobbed to the middle of the Well, then sunk down back to the bottom. He closed his optics, and his body resumed its pose, still like a statue, once more.  
Blitzwing leaned forward over the edge of the basin, set his lips at the water, and took in a mouthful of the Well-water. An electric tingle shot along his tongue, and down his throat as he swallowed.  


Pure magic. The water itself tasted like the cleanest drink he’s ever had - more pure than any filtered water he’s had, that’s for sure. And to think that this was water taken from Mimisbrunnr, which was filled by the river Gjoll below Yggdrasill. These waters were primal and ancient, and bitterly cold despite the fact the room was so warm.   
He just hoped that whatever the consumption of the Well-water was going to lead to, it was going to be good.   
He turned his attention to Starscream’s body, sitting frozen above the icy well.    
As above, so below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know for sure if there's going to be 16 chapters, it's just a rough guess.


	9. Purple Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the Lost Light, his conversation with Starscream and Chase ringing in the back of his mind like a broken record player, he sets out again and attempts to contact Savage Garden. He seeks out more information on the identity of The Pommel.

_"tears of the father,_   
_blood of the son,_   
_through years of dishonor, come undone._   
_so i'll armor myself with this knowledge,_   
_and match my speed to the wind._   
_i'll journey away, far from this place,_   
_and pray none will know me as a friend"._   
_~ aether realm, 'the fool' ~_

The taste of magic still lingered on his lips, still burned at his throat.   
This time, it was cloudy. Perhaps, a threat of a storm. The air hummed with that tensity, at least, as if thunder could rumble and lightning would flicker at any moment.   
He shouldn’t be flying. Nobody should be flying in this weather. Or at least, what the weather is to become, possibly. The tension before a thunderstorm was something one would feel in their bones.   
Thunder boomed overhead, rattling his windows and almost startling him out of the sky. Now was the time to land.   
He wasn’t a storm mage, so even if he tried he wouldn’t be able to call back the storm. Then again, natural flow and all that. It was a fragile balance and tampering with it magically or otherwise never had a fun outcome.   


He had long since departed from the crater in the fields as instructed - abandoning the Slayer-of-Fafnir, Gram, in the dirt. He just had to hope Phoenix appeared to take it.   
And he had a plan. Contact Savage Garden. Talk with her. See if she knows anything about The Pommel, like a name or a location. Especially considering how he worked so closely with this ‘Burnt League’, perhaps he confided in them.   
It was also very risky, considering that his location could be traced if he sends a signal. Savage Garden didn’t even know what to watch out for, and it was a risk no matter what he took. They could trace him, hunt him down and kill him, unless…   
What if he were to tell Savage Garden that it was a signal from someone else, and she was going to go to its source alone?   
Too risky. They probably have his name and face on everything now, including his frequencies.

Too risky. They probably have his name and face on everything now, including his frequencies.   
Lightning flashed overhead, a rumble of thunder, and a torrent of rainfall.   
The one thing he loved so much about the summer was how thunderstorms behaved like this - it’s usually so still and silent and humid, then bam, torrent after torrent of rainfall. Sometimes it would stop suddenly then continue again.    
The rain was like a spiritual bath. Showering away all the negative, allowing it to drip from him and back to the earth so that it could be recycled into something more useful.   
He turned his face to the sky and closed his optics allowing the rain to wash over his faceplates.

He drew in a breath, the vents on his sides and face rattling as he did so. He relaxed his shoulders, drooped his wings, and took in the rainfall.   
Little feet found themselves on his shoulders - Muninn, perhaps, deciding it was best to perch through the storm. The raven squeaked and shook his body out.   
Blitzwing sunk to his knees in the mud, still, his optics closed as if meditating to the drumming of the rain on his face. He held his hands out to his side, raising his arms only a small bit, folding his legs under him, and he knelt there like that and did not move, as if he was a statue.   
He loved the rain. Especially thunderstorms, when the thunder shook the earth like a great beast purring and lighting illuminated the world for only a second.

There was something still so powerful and primal in the force of a storm. Cleansing, soul-freeing. Silently he begged for the rain to take away his pain, to ease his wounded soul. For reassurance, for, perhaps his biggest hopes to be realised and Firebird returned home to him.   
And he sat there until the storm stopped, magic buzzing on his lips and down his throat and through his chest, spreading towards his limbs, making his wings tingle with an electric buzz.  


When the rain stopped, slowly he opened his optics and sighed, rising to his feet. Muninn was soaked through - his feathers matted to his body and making his black markings blot together as if they were ink on paper. The white raven clicked his beak at Blitzwing, who raised a finger to the raven’s beak.   
The raven purred and brushed against his finger. He had to keep moving.   
Part of him hoped that the signal he put out as he meditated in the rainfall - an old Prothexian mind-body split, which sent part of the soul from the body to act as a beacon to anyone passing by. Best perfected by those practised in magic.   
Cybertronian magic had been lost for eons - even to their own people, only surviving through the discoveries of the Occulus Occult and the Pectuus Occulatus, their counterparts that served with the humans. 

And once more it was practised openly and widely by the Cybertronian people, and those they deemed worthy. It felt nice to have what was lost back.   
Maybe it was the Well-water. Maybe it was the hope he had, but he could’ve sworn that his soul had gone flying from his body, no different than Muninn did, and caught the attention of another soul - hopefully, Savage Garden.   
Soul-Beacon can be very risky to pull off. Perhaps the Well-water aided him.   
He just had to sit, wait and hope. Leaving now, or at least straying too far, will screw with the signal. Hopefully nobody else caught on.   
He squelshed his feet into the mud and sighed, turning his optics towards the sky and the dissipating gray clouds. It was about to get really, really, really fucking humid.   
His vents were overworked just thinking about it.

He huffed and paced about. He was going to need a bath after this.  
Static crackling on his comlink caught his attention. He raised a digit to the comlink and clicked it on. “Hello?”  
Static. A voice, somewhere in said static. “You--” Hissed a voice.  
Savage Garden.  
“Yes?” Blitzwing barked into the com. “You’re cutting out”.  
“Look-- up--”  
Blitzwing glanced up - sure enough, circling lower and lower was Savage Garden. She was airborne, at least. Probably having a hard time flying, but she seemed relatively okay.  
  


Blitzwing watched as the other descended slowly - once she was close enough to the ground, she transformed and landed in the mud.   
“You,” She began. “I saw your… whatever that was. Tugged me in your direction, it was weird”.   
“...Soul Beacon. Long story. It’s been a moon, Savage Garden”.   
She paused. “I… I had to lie and tell them I was trailing a signal for something, had to say I found some evidence of where you were. We don’t have long. I did find a golden sword in a crater”.   
“Leave that. It goes to Phoenix”.   
Savage Garden nodded. “So… who are you?” She said, after a long, tense pause. 

Blitzwing raised his arm, and Muninn hopped onto it and preened himself. “I’m the father of who you call Phoenix. That much you’d know by now. I am called Blitzwing, and this is Muninn”. The raven fixed a blue eye on Savage Garden.  
“W-well, you already know who I am, at least my name, you know, masquerading as Baer…” She began shyly. “Which I want to know how you… do that…” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.  
Suddenly, Muninn jumped onto Blitzwing’s shoulder. Savage Garden yelped and jumped back.  
Startles easily. Seemed a bit shy. “You will learn how to call holoforms eventually,” Blitzwing began softly. “And eventually put your entire consciousness and soul into it. It takes a very long time to learn, and even longer to master. It’s something we are naturally capable of doing. But I’m not here to talk about that. After last night - what of Phoenix? What of my daughter?”  


Savage Garden shifted anxiously, optics drifting to the sky then to her left and right, as if looking if she was being watched. “Phoenix. Well. I did manage to talk to her last night - she tells me everything, given I am her girlfriend-”  
“What?”  
“What? Anyways. She told me that she doesn’t know how to feel. She was expecting that you’d be heartless and cold, unloving. You know, not wanting to come back for her, as she put it. She doesn’t show it but she really was shaken by seeing you, and with what you said… it shook her faith in Necrostar down to her core. I think for once the torment we’ve lived under… she’s conscious of it now”.  
Blitzwing breathed in a sigh. He was getting through to her. “What was… What was your lives like?”  


Savage Garden paused. “Well… we were all raised separate from each other, then introduced to each other all at once when we were young. We’ve been together ever since. Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden are like big brothers to us. But they… were never the same, really, not after Pantera was killed and Slayer wound up missing”.   
“I-I’m sorry”.   
“After that, the starvation and the beatings got worse. We were like… treated like animals, you know? Chained up, sometimes the chains would be heated and it would burn us-” Well that explained the scars all over her body. Most of them at least. “-And they. Drilled into us the idea that our families abandoned us because we were unwanted and unloved. Whether it’s fortunate or unfortunate I was taken from my parents just a little bit older than the others were - they take children no other than two years old. I happen to remember my parents, although… vaguely”.   
Blitzwing nodded slowly. Just listening.   


“I doubted Necrostar from the beginning. I hope that… I can help the others. But not so much of Metallica. He killed his parents when he was six, I believed he mentioned that to you. He brags about it. Wears it like a chip on his shoulder. Claims he fulfilled his duty to Necrostar and that the rest of us should do the same. Slayer, he… spoke of two others. Megadeth and Motorhead, he called them. Spoke of freedom. Then the three of them vanished. There was eleven or so of us, only nine left,” She continued.   
Blitzwing sighed. “Again I… I’m sorry. I hope that those three are… still alive somewhere. If they got away, you guys can too. I know someone - the greatest tracker and finder in all the universe. He is called Daytrader and if you happen on him, you cannot miss him. Ask him about those three - if he knows something, he would be able to tell you. He’s a travelling merchant. If not him, seek out the misthios known as Crosshairs. If not him, Judas Priest should be able to direct you down the right way, and if not them… you’re out of luck”.  


Savage Garden sighed. “Is there any way I can identify them easily?”  
“They carry with them banners with their Guild on them - it’s the unmistakable mark of a panther roaring, black on a green background. You won’t be able to miss it”.  
Savage Garden nodded.  
“Now, anything about The Pommel?”  
“...He visited us last night,” Savage Garden began gently, “Saying he was going to his… residence in… Nevada… near a place called… Jasper… was going to meet up with Silas,” She continued. “To talk. Probably about… us… I don’t know… that’s where… you’ll find him. As for uncovering who he is… you can’t. He is the master of double lives. I’d applaud you if you can even get someone who’s not Silas to identify him”.  


Blitzwing smirked. “Thank you, Savage Garden,” he began. “...You best be taking care of Phoenix, okay? Please… keep trying to talk to everyone. Be careful, be subtle. And… just do what you can”. Blitzwing reached a hand towards her. “Can I…”  
She leaned her head up into his hand. Didn’t even ask. He ruffled the top of her head playfully, and she giggled.  
It was a dull, strained sound, almost as if she had never done it before.   
He watched as she turned, transformed, and took off, albeit with some struggle.  
Blitzwing couldn’t decide what was more heartbreaking - the fact that by the sounds of it, Savage Garden never knew happiness, or the fact that she had suffered so long and hard.  


He had a destination. He had names of missing kids.   
He knew people in Jasper - the birthplace of the Red Legion that resisted Necrostar, and where their stories on earth truly began. Once a town, now a fortified fortress where everyone is checked on the way in or out. Cybertronians and humans alike lived in harmony in Jasper - however, it wasn’t as balanced and peaceful as Griffin Rock was, and wasn’t as populated as the settlement a guy named Seymour Simmons established in Colorado.   
Red Legion sanctuaries were scattered all over the globe - and Necrostar hated it. It threatened their supremacy over all the world.   
Perhaps it would be wise to attempt to call Simmons - even though he would need to go through Optimus to get in contact with some other kid named Sam Witwicky, just to get through to Simmons. It was too much of a hassle, especially when Blitzwing can fly there himself.  


Miko, however, was a lot easier to contact, when one could find her. She rolled with the Wreckers - and they never stayed put. She was almost always there if she wasn’t attending to important business regarding the Red Legion, considering, she led them. The Imperial Legate of the Red Legion.  
She was incredible - on her side, Legionnare Legate Rafael Esquivel, and Legionnare Legate Jack D’Arby, and behind them, legions consisting of every human on the planet that resisted Necrostar. Among their ranks were hoards of Paladins who served the Primes.  
Was Miko in Jasper?  
Probably, with her adoptive fathers - one of which was a Prime. Bulkhead, also known as Ignatius Prime or Drako Prime. Wheeljack was a mortal - and Bulkhead’s husband. Together they had a daughter called Hellfire, who was Miko’s little sister.  
Blitzwing would have to get very lucky very fast.   


He trundled along the pavement - his treads were soaked through with mud, and the people of Essex County probably didn’t appreciate a massive tank driving slowly around their streets. He had to do what he needed to do. Think.  
Plan.  
He huffed exhaust. He needed to go home and take a bath. Get the mud out of his treads before it dried, making it hard to scrape out, and if any mud is left in the treads it gets all uncomfortable and Jack-O’-Lantern would probably spend all afternoon picking at them should he decide to poke out for a bit.  
This entire incident worried Blitzwing. Red and Jack have been… quiet, since the first encounter with Phoenix near Detroit. It made him wonder what they thought.  
He stopped, though, right in the middle of the street.   


In front of him was a golden eagle - easily large enough to pick up a human child in its claws, with a silk hood over its head, clasped around the bird’s neck. It was attached to a matching silk cape - the eagle’s massive claws had silver filigree cuffs on them, matching the filigree that decorated the bird’s body and wings.   
The eagle was staring at him - an amber eye fixated on the tank just yards in front of it. Muninn overhead cawed.   
The eagle preened itself. Blitzwing transformed and stepped towards the eagle, kneeling in front of it.  
The eagle cocked its head, spread its wings… and transformed.  
It was as if the light itself was bending to conceal the bird’s shape-change - clouding around it like a supernova, almost so bright Blitzwing couldn’t keep his optics on it. He raised his hand to cover his optics - but the light almost seemed to go right through his fingers.  


The light vanished as suddenly as one flicking off a light.   
Blitzwing knew that eagle. He knew it too well.   
He lowered his hand - standing before him in place of the eagle was a towering mech - blue metal racing with patterns of flames, his forearms resembling layered plate-armor gauntlets, matching his modesty-plates, which were concealed by plates representing a belt worn over plate armor. He looked almost like a knight. On his shoulders were four huge wings like a scarlet macaw’s, red and blue, and on the tips of his feathers was:

Odal. The rune associated with peace, the home, and ancestors.   
Optimus Prime, one of the Five God-Kings, the god of light and life and the patron god of families.  
He preened out one of his wings before shifting and closing them against his shoulders. “What is it that you need?” Blitzwing began, standing.   
“I wanted to… I heard about your situation,” the Prime began. “I… We all feel terrible for you, Blitzwing”.  
Piercing blue optics as bright as the sky bored into Blitzwing. “I… it’s… nothing”.  
“Look,” the Prime began gently. “I have known you since you were young. You have pushed through anger and strife and suffering and emerged strong. I believe in you”.  
“Thanks… is that all you wanted to tell me?”  
“No, Blitzwing. I wanted to… talk to you. All three of you, I want to know how you feel on the circumstances”.  


Blitzwing bit his lip. “You already know damn well how I feel about this. A lot of confusion, stress. But reassurance, because I have some new information. I still worry about what… I learned from Starscream,” he hesitated. “I want to know if I have to kill Firebird. I want to know… what the Eleven Rivers mean”.  
Optimus sighed. “That I can’t tell you. It’s up to fate that can’t yet be read for that information. The Eleven Rivers is something else we don’t have answers for. I don’t know is the only answer I can give you”.  
Blitzwing sighed. “I just… I want to know. So I don’t have to worry so much”.  
“Yeah… What about Red? Has he mentioned how he feels about the situations at hand?”  
“...He has,” Blitzwing began gently. We write stuff we want the others to know in a journal and hope they read it when they’re out next. He’s… a lot of anger. A lot of confusion. Worry, even, which is nothing we’ve really seen from him. He deeply cares for Phoenix, but he’s… also aware this is my weight to bear. And if I ever need him, he’s… one call away”.  


Optimus offered a smirk. “...As for Jack?”   
“It’s a unique situation. It… is upset with the situations? I guess? It worries for Firebird, I’ve even caught it crying over her no differently than I do. It’s worried sick, I think. It doesn’t express emotions well, but I’d assume you’d know this”.   
Optimus nodded. “Is there… anything else?”   
“No - did you… just want to check up on us?”   
“Yes, and… well. There’s something more urgent on hand. Requiem - Megatron, my husband. He requests you tend to the package he’s left in your apartment as soon as you possibly can. He foresees that… things are going to get harder for you. Much harder, and you’re going to need his, ah, gift to you. To say you'd have to kill your daughter isn't certain, but... it's not exactly unlikely, either”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter officially makes Phoenix Embers the longest thing I've ever posted. It's even longer than the parent fic (this is part of a continuity) so far, Occulus Occult!
> 
> I also love naming characters after random artists/bands I've heard of. It's fun.


End file.
